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DRIFTWOOD 


DRIFTWOOD 


By  DOROTHY  WHIPPLE 


PRIVATELY  PRINTED 

AT  THE   RrV'ERSIDE   PRESS 

I916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY  DOROTHY  WHIPPLE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


DEDICATED  TO   MY  FATHER 


CONTENTS 

Driftwood 
Driftwood      .        .        .        .        .        .3 

In  the  Net 

In  the  Net 9 

A  Pearl  —  A  Kiss         .        .        .        .13 

Unanswered 14 

Longing 15 

Good-night 16 

Sleep 18 

Dreams  are  best  .        .        .        .19 

The  Sickle  that  reaps  the  Stars      .    20 

My  Soul 21 

Fate 22 

Just  for  To-night        .        .        .        .23 

A  Rhapsody 24 

Immortal  Hours 25 

Beyond 27 

Hate 28 

Thou 30 

Penelope's  Web 31 

vii 


CONTENTS 

The  Call 32 

Their  Son 33 

Hypnos 34 

Tears  and  Dewdrops   .        .        .        .35 

Morning 36 

Promise 37 

Thanks 38 

Life's  Facets 39 

A  Gold  Ring 41 

Crushed  Bay 42 

Meeting 43 

The  Wrong  Dream       .        .        .        -44 

My  Other  Life 45 

The  Cobwebs  of  Convention      .        .    46 

Souls 47 

Silence 48 

Radiant  Evening  Star         .        .        .49 

The  Last  Time 50 

Who  Passed? 51 

Sunrise 52 

Rain  and  Wind 53 

Antithesis 54 

Time .55 

Dreams  and  Waking     .        .        .        .56 
viii 


CONTENTS 

Bubbles 57 

Soul  of  my  Soul  . 

.    58 

Candle-Light 

59 

Plymouth  Seaweed 

Plymouth  Seaweed 

63 

Cranberries 

67 

The  Farm 

70 

Haying    . 

73 

Tree-felling 

76 

Selling  the  Lot 

78 

The  Telephone 

82 

The  Swamp    . 

84 

Red-winged  Blackbird 

86 

Children  and  Fairies 

Fairy  of  the  Leopard  Lily 

89 

Sunlight  Fairies  . 

91 

Star  Reflections 

92 

Foxglove        

93 

Fairy  Snowballs  . 

95 

The  Sleep  Fairies 

96 

The  Echo  Fairy    . 

97 

Rainbows        .... 

98 

A  Star  Wedding    . 

99 

The  Angels*  Path 

,        , 

10 1 

IX 


CONTENTS 


Hide-and-Seek  with  the  Stars   . 

I02 

The  Smelling-Salts  at  the  Dance 

104 

Lost 

106 

A  Lonely  Alligator     . 

107 

Childhood 

109 

A  Sail  on  the  Moon 

1 10 

Sunbeam         

.    112 

Fairies 

113 

Morning  Mists      .... 

114 

.    115 

The  Lost  Fairy  and  the  Autumn  Leap 

'    117 

Forest  Stream      .... 

119 

A  Thought 

120 

Snow 

121 

Who  calls  the  Flowers?    . 

122 

The  Fast  Little  Clock 

123 

The  Tradegy  of  the  Umbrella    . 

125 

The  Lament  of  a  Feather 

127 

If  I  WERE  a  Red,  Red  Cherry 

129 

130 

The  Lost  Thought        .        .      - . 

131 

Mother's  Flowers 

132 

Dream-Children    .... 

133 

Mother-Love         .... 

134 

CONTENTS 

Fans,  Fancies  and  Frivolities 

Why? 137 

Her  New  Fan 139 

A  Question 142 

The  Mirror  of  a  Fickle  Girl   .        .144 

Hide  and  Seek 145 

The  Rose  on  her  Hat  to  the  Rose 

on  the  Bush 146 

The  Stray  Lock 148 

A  Letter 149 

Scandal 150 

A  Pill 151 

Alone  with  Fancy        .        .        .        .152 

A  Fancy 153 

The  Birth  of  Venus    .        .        .        .154 
A  Fancy 155 

Gardens  and  Flowers 
Her  Garden  —  My  Garden         .        .159 
Lily  of  the  Valley      .        .        .        .161 

The  Lotus 162 

Canterbury  Bells        .        .        .        .163 
White  Lily    ......  164 

A  Garden 165 

Heliotrope    .        .        .        ,        .       .166 
xi 


CONTENTS 

Where  Lilies  grow      .        .        .        .167 

Forgotten 169 

I  KNOW 170 

A  Violet 171 

A  Path 172 

The  Brook 173 

Tansy  and  Chicory      .        .        .        .174 
Crimson  Roses 175 

Songs  and  Seasons 

Song 179 

You 180 

Song 181 

A  Song 182 

Her  Heart 183 

A  Mystery 184 

Sailing 185 

Spring  and  Fall 

Spring 189 

Spring  Ecstacy 191 

Spring  Promise 192 

A  Bird's  Call 193 

The  Spring  Moon         .        .        .        .194 

A  Spring  Song 195 

Blue  Sky  overhead      .        .        .        .196 

xii 


CONTENTS 

The  Bluebird's  Song    .        .        .        .197 

Fall  Flames 198 

Fall  Sky 199 

A  Leaf  —  A  Love         ....  200 

Change  202 

A  Dream  of  the  Fall  .        .        .  203 

Autumn  Contradictions       .        .        .  204 

Religiosa 

In  the  Night 207 

Resignation 208 

God  knows 209 

Melrose  Abbey 210 

Where  now  stands  Trinity        .        .211 
The  Golden  Cross       .        .        .        .214 

Solace 215 

Shadows  of  Gold  ....  216 

Sonnet 217 

In  Memoriam 218 

An  Angel 219 

Crucifixion 220 

A  Prayer 221 

Portrayals 

A  Portrait 225 

A  Girl 226 

zifi 


CONTENTS 

The  Teamster 229 

The  Miner 231 

A  Romance  of  the  Circus  .        .  233 

Reminiscence 239 

Possession 243 

Eons  Ago 245 

Vers  Libre 

To 251 

A  Fancy 253 

Parting 255 

Magnolia  Blossoms      ....  256 
Clouds  across  the  Moon    .        .        .257 

Marriage 259 

Pot  au  Feu 261 

A  Rhapsody 265 

L'Envoi 
Heart  Songs 269 


DRIFTWOOD 


DRIFTWOOD 

It  was  night, 

A  night  that  God  had  planned  before  the  world 

began. 
The  moon  glimmered  in  a  gold  surprise 
Over  a  wine-spilled  sea.  A  creature  of  to-day 
In  all  the  words  he  knows  could  not  express 
What  the  moon  saw,  and  the  moon  will  not  speak 

of  this  night. 
There  was  one  soul  on  the  shore  beside  the  wave- 
crested  sea; 
I  think  it  was  mine  own,  but  the  wind  could  not 

tell  me; 
Or  perhaps  it  was  that  I  could  not  understand 

that  night. 
Far  out  on  the  swaying  murmurous  moontide, 
I   saw  mermaids   frolicking  with   the  foam   in 

ecstatic  gracefulness : 
Their  hair  glinted  in  the  velvet  moonlight 
And  spread  a  golden  vein  into  the  wine  luster  of 

the  sea. 
There    were    fairies    catching    the    star-pierced 

spray 

3 


DRIFTWOOD 

Of  the  breaking  waves. 

I  heard  a  child's  voice,  I  think  she  woke  from  her 

sleep 
And  knew  that  this  night  was  not  like  others. 
Children  always  know  such  things : 
It  is  because  they  have  come  so  lately  from  God 
Who  holds  the  silver  cords  of   the  plasmatic 

world. 
There  was  no  voice  in  me. 
The  sea  spoke,  but  I  could  not  answer  it, 
Or  understand  the  words  it  trampled  out. 
Then  morning  came  out  of  the  sea. 
One  of  the  mermaids  gleaned  the  exquisite  pink 
Of  the  conch-shell  and  threw  it  to  the  skies; 
My  soul  saluted  the  dawn : 
The  morning  star  shivered  and  glided 
Behind  the  curtain  of  a  pearl  mist. 
Then  I  awoke,  and  as  one  in  a  dream 
Walked  forth  from   under   the  wings   of   that 

night 
Which  was  left  over  in  the  oil  of  centuries. 
There  was  driftwood  on  the  beach ; 
There  was  the  echo  of  a  child's  laugh  in  a  shell; 
And  there  were  fairies  held  prisoners 
Under  the  foam-bubbles  on  the  silvered  sand. 
4 


DRIFTWOOD 

There  must  be  a  beautiful  garden    under  the 

green  sea, 
Because  I  found  blossoms  of  spring  and  summer 

flowers 
Of  all  shades,  and  the  fragrant  flowers 
That  come  in  the  honeyed  autumnal  days. 
My  soul  will  never  forget  that  night 
And  the  things  it  found  in  the  morning 
On  the  lovely  long  beach. 
It  talks  about  those  things  to  me  in  strange 

echoes  now. 
I  have  saved  some  of  the  driftwood ; 
Some  day  I  will  burn  it  all,  see 
The  blue  flame,  and  hear  the  echo 
Of  the  murmurous  sea-thunder. 


IN  THE  NET 


IN  THE  NET 

A  LONE  fisherman 

Out  on  the  great  expanse  of  the  lapis-lazuli  sea. 

With  the  millions  of  glinting  gold  sunbeams 

That  ride  the  ecstatic  wavelets, 

His  white  boat  rises  and  falls  on  the  water 

Like  a  recurrent  thought,  — 

Now  lost  in  the  vast  blueness,  now  dazzlingly 

visible, 
Like  a  speck  of  foam. 

There  is  something  flying  through  the  radiance 

of  the  morning  air; 
It  is  not  a  gull. 

The  gulls  gaze  on  it  with  lazy  surprise; 
It  has  wings  and  it  is  my  soul. 
It  must  reach  the  lone  fisherman  before  his  net 

is  drawn. 
Now  he  is  reaching  over  the  side  of  the  white 

foam  boat, 
And  it  tips  to  meet  the  blue 
Till  the  dull  brown  floor  and  sides  are  visible, 
With  the  ropes  and  pails  and  shining  fish-scales. 
9 


IN  THE  NET 

And  the  lone  fisherman  is  pulling  his  heavy  net 

over  the  side. 
There  is  a  glinting  mass  of  animation  through 

the  meshes  of  the  net, 
And  the  slippery  sound  of  captured  fish 
As  they  lash  their  bodies  about 
Swimming  in  the  foreign  air. 
There  are  many  fish  in  the  net,  but  there  is  more 

beside 
From  the  wonderful  ocean-green  depths  beyond 

the  silence  of  the  sea  song. 
There  is  a  conch-shell  with  elusive  pink  tints: 
One  would  follow  that  shade  to  the  heart  were 

it  possible. 
The  wind  is  singing  beautifully  of  the  mysteries 

of  the  sky, 
And  the  sunbeams  are  playing  on  the  harp  of  the 

air. 
In  the  conch-shells  are  the  echoes  of  songs  — 
Beauteous  strains  vaguely  inexpressible. 
There  are  rainbow  bubbles  all  about. 
The  occasional  flip  of  a  fish  breaks  one  now  and 

then, 
And  the  rainbow  streams  lavishly  over  his  shining 

scales. 

10 


IN  THE  NET 

Then  another  foam-bubble  appears. 

And  the  rainbow  flows  together  and  becomes  a 
drop  of  water. 

It  looks  like  a  beautiful  tear  from  the  depths  of 
despair, 

Where  it  is  purple  and  dark  with  suffering. 

Tears  are  like  snowdrops 

Bleeding  out  of  the  ground, 

A  sea-anemone  was  caught  in  the  net. 

It  had  a  lost  dream  in  its  chalice. 

Some  one  out  at  sea  forgot  a  dream. 

It  fell  into  the  ocean  and  lay 

In  the  anemone's  beautiful  cup. 

There  was  a  flash  of  gold  amid  the  silvered  fish- 
scales. 

The  meshes  of  the  net  were  lying  on  it  heavily, 

And  a  starfish  clung  to  one  end. 

Could  it  be  that  the  fisherman  had  caught  the 
crescent  moon? 

It  was  its  reflection. 

There  was  a  night  when  the  sea  was  idly  calm 

And  the  moon  threw  its  reflection  down. 

The  moon's  reflection  is  its  love; 

And  a  beautiful  pink  starfish 

Caught  the  crescent  moon's  love  and  held  it  fast. 
II 


IN  THE  NET 

The  fisherman  caught  them  both. 

The  silent  tide  is  creeping  in ; 

The  fisherman  must  get  home. 

He  empties  all  but  the  fish  into  the  dizzy  sea 

again. 
There  is  only  an  occasional  flash  and  flicker  of 

sunbright  scales ; 
Most  of  the  fish  are  dry  and  sticky. 
My  soul  saw  all  that  came  up  from  the  sea's 

depth 
In  the  fisherman's  coarse  brown  net. 
It  has  left  the  boat  now, 
And  the  gulls  float  in  the  vast  blueness, 
And  they  see  my  soul  passing  again. 
It  is  coming  to  me  and  I  shall  know  all. 


A  PEARL  — A  KISS 

A  STAR  fell  into  the  depths  of  the  sea  — 
A  star  of  golden  mystery; 
And  the  rainbow  flight  of  the  ocean  spray 
Mingled  and  made  it  a  pearl  where  it  lay. 

A  thought  fell  into  the  depths  of  a  heart, 
And  felt  its  quivering  pulses  start; 
The  rainbow  dreams  that  arise  from  our  bliss 
Touched  it  —  and  it  became  a  kiss. 


13 


UNANSWERED 

Why  is  it  wrong  to  long  for  death? 

She  stands  gazing  at  the  sun-bright  water 

Asking  the  breeze, 

Asking  the  trees, 

Why  is  it  wrong  to  long  for  death? 

The  waters  are  beating  against  the  sand; 

With   the  same   insistent   beat,  pain   throbbed 

'gainst  her  heart 
Until  it  saw  the  life-blood  oozing  start. 
Until  it  left  her  hopeless  on  the  strand. 

There  is  no  need  to  flaunt  her  suffering  — 

I  think  that  words  would  fail.    Let  those  who 

know 
Life,  those  who  understood  it  long  ago. 
Realize  that  sacred  silence  which  bespeaketh  all. 

Why  is  it  wrong  to  long  for  death? 
She  stands  gazing  at  the  deep  gray  waters, 
Asking  the  wind, 
Asking  her  mind, 

Why  is  it  wrong  to  long  for  death? 
14 


LONGING 

There  is  a  longing  in  my  soul 

For  rainbow  things 

Far,  far  away. 

There  is  a  rustle  on  the  breeze 

Of  fairy  wings 

Far,  far  away. 

Gently  my  life-pulse  beats  into  the  night; 
Slowly  my  sleep-soul  rises  to  the  light; 
Gold  of  the  moonbeams  shimmering  o'er  the  lea, 
Heart  of  my  heart,  I  am  calling  thee. 

There  is  a  longing  in  my  soul 
For  mystic  things 
Far,  far  away. 

There  is  a  distant  echoing  voice 
That  murmuring  sings 
Far,  far  away. 

My  love  is  throbbing  like  the  evening  star, 
Caught  in  the  purple  haze  of  night  afar; 
Foam-crested  waves  are  breaking  near  the  sea; 
Heart  of  my  heart,  I  am  calling  thee. 
15 


GOOD-NIGHT 

Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 
The  Hly  hath  let  her  petals  white 
Close  to  the  murmur  of  the  night, 
Lulled  by  a  faint  star-distant  beam, 
The  spirit  of  a  beautiful  dream. 
Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 

Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 

The  breeze  is  whispering  to  the  moon, 

The  harp  of  night  is  all  in  tune. 

And  over  the  sea  where  the  mermaids  glide 

A  path  of  gold  sways  with  the  tide. 

Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 

Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 
The  moon  is  drawing  the  sighing  sea; 
My  love,  thy  heart  is  drawing  me. 
And  the  flowers  droop  in  the  ambient  air 
To  breathe  on  the  silver  moonbeams  there. 
Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 

Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 
The  promise-star  in  the  deep  blue  sky 
i6 


GOOD-NIGHT 

Hath  gleamed  —  we  shall  meet  again, 

thou  and  I, 
And  I  shall  know  thy  smile  of  light 
In  the  lovely  land  of  a  fond  good-night. 
Good-night,  dear  one,  good-night. 


SLEEP 

Beautiful  over  the  sunlit  sea, 
Dreamy  over  the  hyacinth  lea, 
Drowsy  tops  of  the  swaying  tree  — 
Sleep  —  O  sleep,  thou  art  come  to  me. 

Far  in  a  land  of  dream-desires, 
Of  rainbow  bubbles  and  fairy  spires, 
Where  lilies  are  growing  in  clouds  of  white, 
And  breathing  fragrance  to  the  stars'  light; 

Deep  in  the  realm  of  the  evening  star, 
Where  translucent  spirits  of  mystery  are; 
Sleep,  thou  hast  taken  me  far  away 
From  the  life  I  live  in  the  sparkling  day. 

Beautiful  over  the  morning  sea. 

Lovely  the  jasamine  skies  to  me; 

The  crocus  dawn  is  warm  with  light 

From  the  shimmering  moonbeams  of  the  night. 


i8 


DREAMS  ARE  BEST 

It  is  so  fair  to  dream  life, 

Dream  till  reality 

Becomes  a  mist  that  trembles 

Over  a  seething  sea ; 

To  lay  down  the  cross  we  're  bearing, 

Just  for  a  little  while, 

And  after  the  tears  of  sufifering 

Feel  the  warm  sun  of  a  smile. 

It  is  so  fair  to  dream  love, 
Nor  put  it  to  life's  acid  test; 
Its  anguish  consumes  the  heart  so. 
Oh,  dreams  are  the  very  best. 


19 


THE  SICKLE  THAT  REAPS  THE 
STARS 

Out  of  the  tow'ring  cave  of  night 
Where  the  dreams  of  mortals  are, 
A  radiant  youth  of  spirit  Hght 
Came  forth  and  journeyed  afar. 

Gold  as  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
Shone  the  moon-sickle  in  his  hand, 
To  reap  the  trembling  evening  stars 
That  sparkle  like  silver  sand. 

Gladly  he  reaped  in  the  purple  field, 
Gathering  star  by  star; 
The  gold  moon-sickle  grew  fainter  —  till 
'Twas  lost  in  the  distance  far. 


90 


MY  SOUL 

My  soul  is  wandering  far  away 
Into  the  crocus  of  waning  day, 
Into  the  distant  amethyst 
Of  the  ever-drooping,  fading  mist. 

I  watch  it  shimmering  o'er  the  sea 
Like  a  trembling  breath  of  eternity; 
I  see  it  on  a  sunbeam  far 
Melt  into  the  evening  star. 

It  glimmers  like  a  firefly 

Into  the  purple  of  the  sky. 

The  moaning  sea  to  the  foam-white  beach 

Answers  its  echo's  utmost  reach. 

And  my  soul  is  palpitating  still 
With  the  pulse  of  the  star  over  the  hill. 
Where  will  it  be  when  that  golden  star 
Shall  fade  in  the  light  of  the  morning  far? 


ai 


FATE 

Fate  with  a  trembling  hand  wrote  this  — 

A  line  of  suffering,  a  line  of  bliss, 

And  life  glides  on  in  a  mist  of  tears 

Or  a  rainbow  of  hope  that  hides  our  fears. 

But  the  lines  that  were  written  by  fate  shall  be 

Realized  for  all  eternity. 


23^ 


JUST  FOR  TO-NIGHT 

Just  for  to-night,  dear,  come  unto  me; 
Forget  all  the  pains  and  sorrows  that  be; 
Just  for  to-night,  dear,  take  thou  my  hand  — 
Let  us  live  life  as  our  two  hearts  had  planned. 

Just  for  to-night,  dear,  take  me  and  say 
You  love  me  and  you  will  love  me  alway; 
Just  for  to-night,  dear,  kiss  me  again, 
The  kiss  that  I  dreamed  would  never  be  pain. 


23 


A  RHAPSODY 

Blue   sky,   green  fields  and  fleecy  clouds  of 

white ! 
Their  strange  shaped  shadows  glide  like  dreams 

of  night 
Over  the  silent  fields  of  swaying  grain, 
Great  visions  of  the  spirit  of  the  plain. 
Under  the  leafy  trees  in  cool  deep  glades 
Soft,  golden  sunlight  slowly  gleams  and  fades. 
White  phantom  visions  flit  before  the  eyes 
And  vanish  in  the  distance  of  the  skies. 
Rippling,  splashing  water  on  the  golden  sand, 
A   gently   stirring    sound,  —  perhaps   Titania's 

band. 
And  all  the  dryads  of  the  woodland  trees 
In  rainbow  circles  flit  upon  the  breeze. 
Dryads  robed  in  purple  like  the  iris  light. 
Opalescent  fairies,  spirits  of  dusky  night. 
Fairies,  fairies,  fairies  soaring  to  the  skies. 
Let  us  wait  a  little  longer  till  the  moon  shall  rise. 
Then  the  rainbow  fairies,  combing  all  the  light, 
Shall  shimmer  through  the  darkness  into  stars  of 
.    night. 

a4 


IMMORTAL  HOURS 

Hours  long  I  stop  and  listen 
To  the  singing  harp  of  time; 
And  I  hear  soft,  distant  echoes 
Harking  from  another  clime. 

Echoes  of  the  past  are  trembling 
In  music  through  the  halls  of  life; 
Angel  hands  that  bear  loved  memories 
Charm  away  all  sordid  strife. 

As  the  primrose  sky  of  evening 
Fades  into  the  purple  night, 
So  those  memories,  softly  blending, 
Mingle  in  my  heart's  delight. 

Memories  of  such  perfect  hours 
Pass  like  moonbeams  o'er  the  sea; 
Hours  of  reading  and  communing, 
Soul  to  soul,  upon  the  lea. 

Hours  that  e'er  shall  be  immortal, 
Ensouled  in  rainbow  memories; 
25 


IMMORTAL  HOURS 

Life  may  take  our  fond  desires, 
Turn  our  joys  to  tragedies. 

But,  like  petals  of  a  flower, 
Velvet  soft  and  misty  light, 
Memories  of  such  bliss  shall  linger 
Breathing  fragrance  through  death's  night. 


BEYOND 

Always  a  mystic  distance  luring  us  on  through 

life; 
Always  a  fear  immortal  after  the  storm  of  strife; 
Always  a  vision  rising  over  accomplishment's 

peak; 
Always  intangible  glories  for  which  we  may  ever 

seek. 

And  watch,  vanishing,  vanishing,  like  gulls  over 

the  sea; 
And  our  eyes  dwell  on  that  distance,  fancying 

what  might  be. 
And  then  comes  the  end  of  life,  and  still  the  great 

to  be. 
Something  forever  beyond  our  grasp,  the  last  is 

eternity. 


27 


HATE 

When  the  first  flush  of  rosy  light 
Gleamed  through  the  curtain  of  the  night, 
And  all  the  flowers  of  the  morn 
Gazed  in  the  mirror  of  the  dawn, 

A  gentle  breeze  came  o'er  the  lea, 
Over  the  purple  jasmine  sea, 
Searching  a  flower  to  love  and  woo, 
As  the  light  breeze  of  morning  joys  to  do. 

A  lily  trembled  and  opened  her  heart, 
Pure  as  the  golden  sunbeam-dart; 
The  wandering  breeze  caressed  her  all  day 
Till  evening  came  on  her  starry  way. 

And  the  lily  closed  her  petals  white 

To  dream  of  the  breeze  and  day's  delight; 

Under  the  mystic  stars  she  lay, 

Like  a  pure  thought  when  the  heart  would  pray. 

And  in  this  world  where  life  is  so  strange 
All  are  flower- weak  and  all  things  change; 
38 


HATE 

Love  in  a  night  is  turned  to  hate; 

We  would  enter  heaven,  but  find  it  too  late. 

The  evening  breeze  and  the  lily  white 
Changed  in  the  span  of  a  mortal  night : 
She  heard  him  roar  and  sigh  and  groan 
And  shriek  in  a  moaning  undertone. 

A  wind  of  hate  is  a  wind  that  kills, 

And  breaks  the  substance  of  our  wills. 

Next   morning   the  blossom  had   drooped   her 

head,  — 
A  flower  was  found  in  the  garden,  dead. 


THOU 

Star  distant  all  my  hopes  and  all  my  fears, 
Silent  as  death  the  life-blood  of  my  heart 
Flows  in  a  purple  stream.  Pain  cannot  start 
The  wild  sad  thrill  it  used  in  other  years, 
Nay,  nor  the  bitter  bleeding,  blinding  tears. 
Oh  joy,  a  hazy  memory  thou  art. 
Tinged  faintly  with  gleams  that  could  once 

impart 
Such  raptures !  Dreamy  aurora  enspheres 
My  being  in  a  golden  mesh  of  light. 
Pain,  longing,  sorrow,  and  a  dear  delight 
Are  mingled  like  the  breath  of  a  pearl  mist, 
Faintly  they  touch  the  senseless  cheek,  insist. 
Like  beating  rain,  till,  my  beloved,  pain 
Withdraws  her  hand  and  thou  art  near  again. 


30 


PENELOPE'S  WEB 

Dearest,  I  cannot  say  good-bye  to  thee. 
The  palhd  moon  may  urge  the  stars  to  shine, 
But,  O  beloved,  lay  thy  hand  on  mine, 
And  all  the  trembling  flame  of  love  leaps  free, 
Consumes  my  throbbing  heart,  and  thus  leaves 

me 
Helpless  in  thy  sight.   I  lift  my  eyes  to  thine 
And  see  the  image  of  a  life  divine, 
Lived  close  to  God  in  beauty  still  to  be. 
Ah  no,  I  cannot  say  good-bye,  dear  heart. 
The  words  are  vain,  and  yet  I  love  to  part, 
For  all  the  sweetness  of  farewell  —  I  say. 
Good-bye,  and  with  the  first  breath  of  to-day 
Undo  those  silver  words,  as  she  who  spun 
All  day  till  night  and  then  unravelled  all  she'd 

done. 


31 


THE  CALL 

The  sunbeams  are  glimmering  through  the  trees, 

The  flowers  sway  in  the  evening  breeze. 

Why  do  you  hasten  on,  little  brook? 

Laughing  waters,  why  leave  this  nook 

Where  the  sand  is  soft  and  gold  j 

And  the  wild-rose  petals  fold?  j 

Why  hasten  on  to  the  hungry  sea?  ! 

Is  this  happiness  not  enough  for  thee, 

With  all  this  beauteous  solitude. 

The  water-lily  diamond-dewed? 

The  sea  is  calling  for  the  brook 

For  the  echoes  of  its  quiet  nook, 

Rippling,  laughing  brook  so  free 

Why  be  lost  in  that  boundless  sea?  j 


39 


THEIR  SON 

The  yellow  sunlight  flickered  through  the  trees; 
Slowly  the  fluttering  leaves,  gold  and  red, 
Fell  through  the  silent  air  from  overhead 
Upon  the  twilight  of  two  lives.    The  evening 

breeze 
Mingled  its  whispers  with  the  drone  of  bees. 
Beyond  their  tear-dimmed  vision,  far  ahead, 
Lay  purple  hills  with  misty  light  o'erspread; 
Their  vision  rested  upon  each  of  these. 
Silent  they  stood,  those  two,  gazing  far  away 
At  that  lone  figure  going  out  to  meet  the  day 
Beyond  the  hills,  leaving  the  autumn  leaves  to 

fall. 
Like  the  hopes  of  their  hearts  and  taking  all. 
All  but  a  dream  of  what  had  ceased  to  be, 
Tinged  with  a  longing,  aching  misery. 


33 


HYPNOS 

Fair  Hypnos  of  the  peaceful,  dreamy  brows, 
Who  weary  mortals  mystic  rest  allows, 
Come  to  me  now  and  lay  thy  cool,  soft  hand 
Over  my  weary  eyes.   Unloose  each  band 
Of  pain's  relentless  woe  that  all  the  day 
Like  coiling  serpents  strangles  peace  away. 
As  falls  the  sunlight  on  the  purple  hills. 
So  falls  thy  comfort  on  the  wayward  wills 
Of  men.  O'er  seething  seas  a  dream  of  night 
Is  melting  into  soft  radiant  light. 
The  evening  star  will  gently  draw  it  soon, 
Out  of  the  shimmering  bosom  of  the  moon. 
And  I  shall  dream  of  fountains  in  the  sun, 
Of  summer  sunsets  when  the  day  is  done, 
Of  cloud-flecked  skies  whose  shadows  on  the 

grass 
Glide  by  the  golden  sunbeams  and  pass 
On  to  the  hills,  and  then  far,  far  away 
To  wait  the  dawn  of  coming  day. 


34 


TEARS  AND  DEWDROPS 

The  evening  breeze  wafts  o'er  the  sea, 
Breathing  its  fragrance  and  sweetness  to  me, 
And  it  faints  in  the  flush  of  the  sunset  sky 
While  the  languorous  gulls  are  soaring  by. 

The  breath  of  my  pain  is  drifting  too 
Somewhere  afar  in  God's  heaven  of  blue. 
The  morning  wind  is  fresh  and  clear 
It  misses  a  dewdrop  and  finds  a  tear. 


35 


MORNING 

Into  the  mists  of  sunshine, 
Into  the  violet  sky, 
The  morning  star  is  waning 
And  our  dreams  are  floating  by. 

Out  of  the  mists  of  morning. 
Out  of  the  rainbow  dew, 
The  radiant  day  is  dawning 
And  morn  is  coming  anew. 

Out  of  the  dreams  and  visions. 
Out  of  the  purple  night, 
The  spirit  of  mortal  is  stirring 
And  reveling  in  the  light. 


36 


PROMISE 

The  lilies  are  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  wind, 
And  the  glamorous  world  is  left  behind 
As  the  golden  sheen  of  meteor  light, 
When  a  star  falls  into  the  unknown  night. 

The  lilies  are  breathing  soft  and  low, 

And  their  perfume  sleeps  in  the  breezes  that  blow, 

And  over  the  purple  hills  far  away 

God  is  pouring  life  into  the  day. 

With  promise  of  undreamed  things  to  be, 
Moments  of  pain  and  ecstasy. 
We  never  know  till  the  day  is  o'er 
The  mystery  God  hath  planned  before. 


37 


THANKS 

Dear  friend,  you  sang  for  her  one  perfect 

night, 
The  halo  of  thy  voice  wreathed  round  her  heart 
And  quivered  there  till  it  became  a  part 
Of  life  to  her  at  best.  Her  rare  delight 
Was  pictured  in  her  eyes  from  the  soul's  insight. 
It  is  not  strange  that  longing  tears  should  start 
And  tremble  in  the  recess  of  the  heart 
On  hearing  those  sweet  strains  again.   To-night 
I  thought  I  felt  her  presence  lingering  near, 
A  spirit  by  thy  music  bidden,  here. 
She  heard;  perhaps  not  as  she  heard  before. 
But  with  us  still  and  loving  even  more. 
How  vain  a  word  of  thanks  must  seem  to  thee; 
Yet  thou  knowest  how  deep  our  thanks  must  be. 


38 


LIFE'S  FACETS 

'T  IS  a  world  of  childish  bliss, 
Of  care-free  days  and  happiness : 
What  could  fairer  be  than  this? 
When  hearts  are  young. 

'T  is  a  world  of  dawning  dreams, 
With  its  rainbow  pain-tinged  gleams, 
And  love's  tender  trembling  beams 
Of  our  youth. 

'T  is  a  world  of  love  and  light, 
Thrilling  heart-throbs  of  delight; 
Of  a  new  and  deep  insight 
Into  life. 

*T  is  a  world  of  tender  pain, 
When  we  feel  all  strife  is  vain; 
There's  a  face  we'll  see  again 
Never  more. 

'T  is  a  world  of  sacrifice 
In  which  perfect  pardon  lies, 
39 


LIFE'S  FACETS 

With  a  glimpse  of  Paradise 
Far  away. 

'T  is  a  world  of  resignation, 
Of  long  hours  of  contemplation, 
With  a  dawn  of  God's  relation 
After  life. 

'T  is  a  world  beyond  our  sight, 
Beyond  death's  grief-darkened  night; 
And  we  wait  on  God  for  light 
In  this  world. 

'T  is  a  world  of  blinding  grief, 
When  the  heart  knows  no  relief; 
Only  prayer  and  firm  belief 
Shall  avail. 


A  GOLD   RING 

Just  a  gold  ring  —  the  moon's  mysterious  light 
Hath  played  with  in  the  forest  heart  some  night 
And  made  a  gold  ring:  —  it  has  no  ending, 
Nor  beginning,  just  a  mystic  blending. 

Just  a  gold  ring  —  hovering  round  I  see 
The  misty  dream  of  all  life  held  for  me 
The  day,  't  was  not  so  very  long  ago, 
It  clasped  my  finger,  God,  I  loved  it  so! 

That  dear  gold  ring  —  there  is  a  vision  now 
Of  days  that  passed  like  music  faint  and  low; 
I  never  knew  but  faintly  guessed 
They  were  too  subtly  sublime  to  bear  life's  test. 


41 


CRUSHED  BAY 

I  CRUSHED  some  bay-leaves  with  a  thoughtless 

hand; 
So  is  it  that  pain  crushes  —  you  understand ; 
And  yet  we  love  the  fragrance  of  crushed  bay 
And  love  the  visions  of  a  by-gone  day. 


MEETING 

I  MET  myself  the  other  day, 
As  I  walked  through  the  sunlit  fields 
Where  the  shadows  of  clouds  float  slowly  by 
And  the  clover  her  fragrance  yields. 

I  walked  through  the  swaying  grasses 
That  rippled  and  bent  in  the  breeze; 
I  listened  to  lisping  leaflets 
That  rustled  in  bird-haunted  trees. 

And  there  in  the  scented  meadow, 
Where  daisies  and  red  grass  grow, 
I  met  myself  in  the  sunshine 
And  I  spoke  to  myself  soft  and  low. 

I  asked  myself  many  a  question, 
But  the  answers  I  '11  never  tell. 
It  is  so  strange  to  meet  one's  self  — 
But  you've  done  it,  I  know  full  well. 


43 


THE  WRONG  DREAM 

Once  through  a  gold-beamed  twilight, 
Over  a  murmurous  sea, 
The  dream  of  some  other  mortal 
Wafted  out  to  me. 

I  saw  in  the  faint,  far  distance. 
Through  a  mist  of  opal  light, 
Something  trembling  and  quivering 
And  growing  forever  more  bright. 

I  dreamed  that  the  moon  was  shining 
Over  a  purple  plain. 
And  someone  was  faintly  calling, 
Calling,  calling  in  vain. 

I  would  the  other  mortal 

Had  dreamed  that  dream  last  night. 

And  answered  the  voice  on  the  purple  plain 

Under  the  moon's  soft  light. 

Even  the  angels  of  dreamland 
Once  in  an  aeon  or  so 
Touch  to  life  the  wrong  vision, 
But  few  of  us  mortals  know. 
44 


MY  OTHER  LIFE 

When  the  fire  flame  is  flickering 
And  the  wind  is  sighing  low, 
Visions  come  and  angel  voices 
Whisper  of  a  long  ago. 

Strange  the  vision  that  arises 
Of  another  life  than  mine, 
Other  hopes  and  other  longings: 
What  was  then  this  life  of  thine? 

Were  we  both  strange  different  beings 
Foreign  in  each  other's  eyes? 
No,  for  I  have  felt  thee  near  me 
In  these  visions  that  arise. 

What  a  world  of  whims  and  fancies! 
In  the  valley  of  the  moon 
Long  ago  I  think  I  wandered 
And  the  height  of  night  was  noon. 

Far  away  the  star  of  evening 
Glimmered,  and  I  loved  to  see 
All  its  perfect  light  a-quiver. 
Dear  heart,  for  I  knew  't  was  thee. 
45 


THE  COBWEBS  OF  CONVENTION 

So  let  us  strive  to  realize  our  intention 
And  sweep  away  the  cobwebs  of  convention, 
Those  silver  threads  of  life  that  hold  us  here 
When  all  the  while  we  feel  our  ideal  near, 
Breathing,  a  new  soul  clamoring  for  birth, 
A  flower,  held  by  winter  in  the  earth. 
Let  us  stretch  forth  the  trembling  arm  of  hope 
And,  soaring,  feel  the  hands  that  used  to  grope, 
Touch  a  new  chord  whose  echoes  vibrant  fill 
The  super-soul  and  tremble  there  until 
The  vision  shall  be  realized.  Then  shall  start 
A  fresh  new  life  with  beauty  at  its  heart. 


SOULS 

There  are  two  souls  in  me  that  greet  the  day 
One  here,  the  other  star-distant  away, 
Over  the  massive  hills  of  night,  where  sleep 
And  all  the  mysteries  of  visions  keep 
Their  drowsy  vigil.  The  other  soul  is  near, 
Crowned  with  a  fragile  wreath  of  fear, 
And  all  its  whiteness  lies  in  silent  peace, 
Watching  the  fleet  shadows  of  life  increase. 


47 


SILENCE 

What  if  for  one  brief  moment  my  wild  heart 
Were  still,  and  all  the  dreams  of  thee  that  are 
So  close  to  it  should  drift  away  afar 
Like  white  mists  drawn  by  breath  of  dawn  apart. 

The  very  pulse  within  me  would  be  still, 
I  would  be  dead,  and  all  my  love  for  thee 
A  flower  more  for  God's  eternity, 
A  world  and  a  heart  in  silence  at  his  will. 

What  if  for  one  strange  moment  all  the  world 
Were  silent  still  as  the  depths  of  night, 
Deprived  of  breath,  still  as  a  golden  shaft  of 

light. 
Still  as  the  white  rose  petals  all  unfurled. 

The  busy  city  would  stand  still  a  time, 

The  brook  would  cease  to  flow,  the  breeze  to  sigh, 

Fair  leaves  to  whisper  as  it  passes  by, 

All  lost  in  silence  of  a  great  sublime. 


48 


RADIANT  EVENING  STAR 

The  sun  of  our  life  arises 

Behind  the  white  mists  of  time, 

In  the  delicate  opal  colors 

Tinged  with  our  dreams  divine. 

And  the  mists  of  time  float  onward 

Down  to  death's  deep  sea, 

Till  they  vanish  in  mystic  distance  — 

We  call  it  eternity. 

For  one  last  perfect  moment 

The  sunset  of  life  is  aglow; 

Slowly  the  soft  shades  mingle 

And  the  winds  of  Elysium  blow. 

Ah,  bright  and  radiant  evening  star, 

Thy  concentrated  light 

Is  the  soul  of  life's  fair  sunset 

Gathered  through  death's  dark  night. 


49 


THE  LAST  TIME 

Were  this  the  last  time  I  could  see  thee,  dear, 
Were  my  dreams  gathered  like  mist  clouds  o'er 

the  sea 
In  pallid  whiteness,  floating  far  from  me! 
Though  all  my  hopes  were  echoed  in  a  tear, 
Still,  dearest  one,  to  feel  thy  presence  near 
Even  for  one  brief  moment  —  that  would  be 
Joy,  rare  enough  for  all  eternity, 
And  I  would  then  forget  all  else  I  fear  — 
Forget  the  aching  pain  of  loneliness, 
Forget  the  silent  hours  when  I  stand 
In  anguish,  reaching  out  my  trembling  hand, 
Longing,  O  dear  one,  for  thy  loved  caress. 
The  lily  forgets  all  but  the  pure  gleam 
Of  tender  light  from  a  loved  moonbeam. 


50 


WHO  PASSED? 

I  WONDER  who  passed  here  just  after  the  snow  fell. 
It's  a  long,  long  way  from  home 
In  the  silence,  and  I  cannot  tell 
Who  passed. 

Perhaps  a  wanderer  seeking  light  — 
It's  a  lonely  place  to  spend  the  night; 
Perhaps  a  hunter  tracking  the  deer 
And  yet  there  are  no  other  tracks  near. 
No,  it  was  none  of  these  that  passed 
And  faced  the  ice  and  the  snowy  blast. 
The  tracks  are  not  deep  in  the  drifted  snow; 
Perhaps  a  spirit,  but  where  did  it  go? 
On,  on  and  on  through  the  purple  night, 
Over  fields  of  flake  snow  banked  so  white. 
Perhaps  I  only  dreamed  I  saw  tracks,  how 
Strange  and  yet,  I  see  them  even  now. 

I  wonder  who  did  pass  here  just  after  the  snow  fell. 
It's  a  long,  long  way  from  home 
In  the  silence,  and  I  cannot  tell 
Who  passed. 

51 


SUNRISE 

The  dusky  night  on  quiet  wings  upborne 

Hath  flown  far  away; 

The  morning  star  that  ushers  in  the  dawn 

Is  budding  into  day. 

Far  off  the  first  warm  petals  are  unfurled, 

And  wait  but  the  kiss 

Of  the  dawn  sprite,  Elysian;  dew-impearled, 

To  blossom  into  this. 

This  radiant  splendor  of  the  rising  sun, 

This  promise  of  a  star. 

This  moment  of  communion  with  the  skies 

And  regions  still  afar. 


52 


RAIN  AND  WIND 

There  are  secrets  in  the  whisper  of  the  rain. 
There  is  music  in  a  tender,  minor  strain, 
Echoes  from  the  heart  that  throbs  in  pain 
For  all  that  ne'er  will  come  in  life  again. 
Ah,  the  whisper  of  the  soft  melodious  rain. 

There  are  secrets  in  the  moaning  of  the  wind, 
Soul  visions  that  our  heart  hath  left  behind, 
With  the  music  of  loved  voices,  low  and  kind, 
And  a  memory  in  the  recess  of  the  mind. 
Oh,  the  secrets  of  the  moaning,  sighing  wind. 


S3 


ANTITHESIS 

The  poem  of  the  evening  star 
To  the  song  of  the  purple  night; 
The  blending  of  dreams  and  thoughts 
With  the  ecstasy  of  delight. 

The  delicate  thrill  of  joy 
To  the  tender  music  of  pain; 
The  reflected  ray  of  light 
In  a  trembling  drop  of  rain. 

The  tumult  of  life  and  love 

To  the  dream  of  its  quiet  hours; 

The  delicate  beauty  of  life 

To  its  virile  and  perfect  powers. 

The  poem  of  a  longing  heart 
To  the  echo  from  far  away; 
The  dream  of  suffering  night, 
And  love  is  born  with  the  day. 


54 


TIME 

Time  held  her  hands  together  long  ago, 
And  day  by  day  with  dreamy  eyes  watched  pass, 
Slowly  like  shimmering  stars,  life's  grains  of  sand 
That  fell  unseen  upon  the  verdant  grass. 

But  now  her  lily  fingers  draw  apart; 
Still  she  is  standing  with  dreamy  eyes, 
And  all  the  golden  sand  like  shafts  of  light 
Slips  through  and  lies  in  suffered  tragedies. 

This  is  the  end.   And  yet  she  stands  there  still, 
A  golden  heap  of  life  existent  near. 
And  all  around  new  grains  of  sand  fall  through  — 
But  mine  is  now  a  heap  and  sere. 


5$ 


DREAMS  AND  WAKING 

What  is  a  dream? 

A  breath  from  the  petals  of  a  flower, 
A  perfect  moment  of  one  glad  hour, 
The  rainbow  after  a  summer  shower. 
The  kiss  of  mysterious  night. 

What  is  awakening? 
A  dreaming  sense  of  what  has  been, 
Of  voices  heard,  loved  faces  seen; 
A  butterfly  moment  poised  between 
Mystery  and  reality. 


S6 


BUBBLES 

You  say  that  the  heart  forgets,  dear, 
Forgets  the  joy  and  the  pain; 
Stands  waiting,  an  empty  bubble. 
Till  life  shall  tinge  it  again. 

There  are  bubbles  that  float  in  the  air,  dear, 

Reflecting  the  sunset  shades; 

There  are  bubbles  that  soar  to  heaven 

In  color  that  swirls  and  fades. 

There  are  bubbles  that  fall  to  earth,  dear, 
And  are  lost  in  a  sea  of  dreams; 
There  are  bubbles  that  tremble  e'er  melting 
Into  pain's  deep  purple  gleams. 

The  heart  does  not  forget,  dear, 
Though  frail  as  a  bubble  it  be; 
The  heart  can  never  forget,  dear, 
Till  utmost  eternity. 


57 


SOUL  OF  MY  SOUL 

Soul  of  my  soul,  —  life  of  my  life,  — 
I  come  to  thee  over  the  hills  of  chance, 
Out  of  the  mists  of  circumstance; 
Peace  in  my  heart  from  all  the  strife. 

Soul  of  my  soul,  —  heart  of  my  very  heart,  — 
I  heard  thy  voice  throughout  the  silent  night 
Long,  long  ago,  and  saw  thy  soul  light 
And  mine  own  become  a  part. 

Soul  of  my  soul,  —  breath  of  my  very  breath,  - 
Our  lives  have  drawn  together  as  the  night 
Melts  into  the  mystery  of  daylight 
We  love,  and  see  thus  mingling  life  and  death. 


58 


CANDLE-LIGHT 

In  the  candle-light  of  life, 
When  the  sun  is  set, 
Come  the  shadows  of  the  past 
We  tried  to  forget. 

Great  dark  shadows  like  the  clouds 
That  used  to  bank  the  sky, 
But  always  leave  the  sunshine 
When  they  had  passed  by. 


59 


PLYMOUTH  SEAWEED 


PLYMOUTH  SEAWEED 

There  was  a  long  shore, 

And  the  silver  sand  sparkled  in  the  moonlight, 

And  the  proud  crested  waves 

Rose  and  crashed,  groveling  on  the  glinting 
sand, 

And  the  white  foam  scintillated  under  the  silent 
moonbeams 

Beneath  the  sea,  —  Under  the  long  golden 
smile  of  the  moon 

The  spirits  of  the  deep  played  in  swaying  grace- 
fulness. 

There  were  long-haired  mermaids 

Who  tore  the  green  brown  seaweed  from  the  rocks 

And  flung  it  to  the  golden  moon-ripples. 

There  were  fishes  with  huge  eyes  and  little 
mouths 

Darting  about  in  the  green  gold  waters  — 

Old  fishes  with  long  fins  and  sunken  gills; 

They  sat  in  the  shadows 

And  told  all  they  knew. 

They  told  of  the  first  boat 

That  came  years  and  years  ago  to  these  waters; 
63 


PLYMOUTH  SEAWEED 

How  it  stayed  only  a  short  while  and  went  away 

Leaving  the  pilgrims  behind. 

The  fishes  have  never  seen  just  such  a  boat  since. 

Many  other  boats  have  been  in  the  harbor, 

Bringing  many  pilgrims, 

But  the  fishes  remember  the  first  one  best. 

The  old  fishes  remember  what  the  gulls  have  told 
them. 

The  gulls  float  over  the  land. 

And  their  round,  bright  eyes  see  many  things; 

Then  they  soar  back  again, 

With  long,  lazy  wings  that  touch  the  waters. 

That  is  the  way  they  talk  to  the  folk  of  the  sea 

Of  all  the  mysteries  of  the  land  each  year. 

The  gulls  have  told  the  old  fishes  of  the  life  there, 

Of  the  struggle  for  existence. 

Of  the  flight  of  some. 

And  of  the  ones  who  have  stayed  there  long  years, 

Of  their  loves,  tragedies,  joys  and  sorrows. 

Of  their  winters  and  summers. 

The  old  fishes  know  a  great  deal, 

And  they  love  to  tell  it 

As  they  glide  back  and  forth  in  the  long  caress- 
ing seaweed 

That  slips  by  their  glistening  scaly  sides. 
64 


PLYMOUTH  SEAWEED 

And  still  the  graceful  long-haired  mermaids 
Tear  the  gold  green  seaweed 
And  fling  it  to  the  smile  of  the  moon. 
In  the  morning  a  young  man 
With  an  echo  of  the  moon's  smile  on  his  lips, 
And  dark  brown  eyes, 
Comes  and  gathers  the  seaweed, 
His  old  horse  stands  on  the  beach, 
Switching  his  tail  at  the  flies 
That  the  sea  breezes  do  not  blow  off,  — 
Switching  it  perhaps  from  force  of  habit. 
He  is  like  some  of  the  people  the  gulls  tell  about. 
Thev  have  done  strange  things  for  years, 
And  still  do  them  and  their  children  do  them  too 
in  the  same  way. 

It  is  a  beautiful  sun-clear  morning. 

The  wind  is  fresh  and  the  sky  is  bright  blue; 

The  man  has  gathered  the  seaweed,  nor 

Does  he  know  of  the  beautiful  mermaids  who 

plucked  it. 
And  of  the  aeon-old  fishes  of  the  deep. 
He  is  carrying  it  home  now 
Along  the  little  sandy  road 
With  dusty  grasses  and  wild  roses  bordering  it; 
65 


PLYMOUTH  SEAWEED 

And  then  through  the  fields  with  daisies  and 

clovers, 
Just  before  he  reaches  his  home,  — 
The  little  white  house  with  green  blinds 
Under  the  shadows  of  the  foothills, 
The  farmers  know  that  seaweed 
Is  good  for  the  grass. 


CRANBERRIES 

The  pitch-pines  are  gnarled  and  sturdy; 

Glimpses  of  forget-me-not  blue  sky 

Gleam  through  the  tracery  of  their  needles. 

The  oaks  that  grow  among  them 

Are  a  wonderful  purple  brown,  in  the  fall 

When  the  nights  are  dew-cool, 

And  there  is  a  mysterious  white  mist  in  the  little 
dells. 

The  flying  fairies  are  held  prisoners  in  the  am- 
bient mist 

And  you  can  hear  their  wings  rustling  all  about. 

The  sun  rises  in  gold  and  purple, 

And  the  cranberry  bogs  are  bright  almost  as 
though 

They  had  caught  fire  from  the  coming  light; 

The  slender  little  vines  creep  over  the  white 
sand, 

Each  leaf  purpling  to  the  sunrise. 

There  is  a  great  gray  hawk  soaring  over  the  bog. 

Marring  the  fleckless  blue  of  the  noon  sky; 

The  streams  that  cut  the  bogs  in  squares 

Are  full  of  frogs  and  little  fish 
67 


CRANBERRIES 

That  dart  on  the  yellow  sand 

And  make  little  slivers  of  animated  shadows. 

The  water  is  bright  and  cool;  it  ripples  so  im- 
portantly; 

It  is  always  trying  to  leap  up  the  vine-covered 
bank, 

But  it  slips  gleamingly  back  again 

Until  the  brook  is  dammed  to  flood  the  bog; 

Then  it  creeps  in  silver  gloatingly  through  the 
vines, 

To  drown  the  pests  or  keep  frost  away. 

No  wonder  the  little  brook  ripples  so  import- 
antly 

Over  its  motley  pebbles  and  silvered  sands. 

The  cranberry  bogs  are  beautiful  in  the  morn- 
ing; 

All  the  fairies  that  were  caught  in  the  haze 

Become  tears  in  the  morning; 

If  they  do  not  fall  into  sad  hearts, 

They  glisten  in  sparkling  happiness 

On  the  cranberry  vines,  and  they  are  full  of  color 
and  light. 

Fairies  are  always  beautiful  and  happy 

Whatever  form  they  take. 

It  will  soon  be  time  to  pick  the  hard  red  berries 
68 


CRANBERRIES 

And  the  pickers  with  their  dark  skins 

And  bright  fantastic  clothes 

Look  as  though  they  might  be  some  fairy  pirates 

Searching  for  a  buried  treasure. 

And  the  sky  smiles  a  blueness  down  upon  the 

Bright  pink  and  flaming  red  and  the  Tyrian 
purple 

And  upon  the  white  barrels 

Filled  with  the  luscious  crimson  of  the  cran- 
berries. 


THE  FARM 
I 

Behind  the  house  is  the  meadow, 
And  beyond  the  meadow  where  clovers  grow, 
And  flaming  poppies  'mid  daisies  like  the  snow, 
Serpenting  through  the  grasses  is  the  silver  lake 
With  sunlight  on  it  and  trees  that  shake 
Their  leaves  on  to  its  surface;  they  float 
Each  with  a  fairy  in  the  petalled  boat 
Over  the  golden  gleams  of  shadowed  sand 
On  to  the  great  unknown  fairy-land. 
Beyond  the  river  is  another  field. 
I  never  went  to  it,  but  the  waters  say 
There  are  daisies  there  too,  and  poppies  gay; 
That  the  bluebird  floats  and  alights  to  see 
If  his  soft  breast  is  clover-red.  The  bee 
Buzzes  his  drowsy  monotone 
In  that  field  just  as  he  does  in  our  own. 
Beyond  the  fields  and  river  blue  hills  rise; 
Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  tell  them  from  the  skies. 
And  white  clouds  fold  upon  them,  till  we  see 
Visions  of  cloud-land  where  hills  used  to  be. 
70 


THE  FARM 

These  hills  seem  always  calling  to  the  flowers, 
And   the  spirits  of  the  meadow   through   the 

sunny  hours 
Breathe  back  their   answers  in  the   faint  per- 
fume 
That  gently  wafts  so  often  to  my  room  — 
The  one  just  under  the  roof  where  the  swallows 

build 
And  the  rain  beats  when  the  night  is  wild. 
I  love  to  hear  the  storm  spirits  shrieking  loud. 
The  ruler  of  the  storm  is  fierce  and  proud; 
He  lashes  all  the  trees  and  beats  the  rain 
Until  it  fairly  bounces  on  the  window-pane. 
He  rides  the  lightning  and  holds  the  thunder, 

till 
The  deep  sound  rumbles  on  from  hill  to  hill. 
I  love  my  room  with  its  flowers  on  the  wall 
There  used  to  be  many  —  the  sun  has  taken 

nearly  all ; 
They  are  faded  flowers  now,  pressed  and   put 

away  — 
Fragile,   but   they   hold  the  all  of  a    by-gone 

day. 


71 


THE  FARM 

II 

I  think  we're  having  doughnuts  to-night; 
They'll  be  all  sugary  and  yellow  and  light; 
And  an  apple-pie,  I  smelled  that  too, 
And  we'll  have  it  on  the  plate  with  blue 
Houses  and  trees  and  meadows  where  grow 
Blue  flowers  not  like  the  field  flowers  though. 
Then  the  stars '11  come  out;  I've  always  thought 
That  when  it  was  dark  the  fairies  brought 
All  the  good  daisies  up  to  the  sky, 
And  then  they  were  stars  —  so  often  I 
Tried  to  wait  for  the  morning  light. 
To  see  the  stars  in  their  earthward  flight. 
Gliding  down  to  the  meadows  fair ; 
They  are  daisies  as  soon  as  they  get  there. 
I  never  could  see  them,  for  I  fell  asleep 
And  dreamed  that  I  was  trying  to  peep; 
And  the  flowers'  fragrance  wafted  to  me. 
And  the  smell  of  the  farm  where  life  is  so  free. 


HAYING 

They  are  mowing  to-day. 

Yesterday  the  summer  breeze  tripped  over  the 

field 
And  the  grasses  bent  slightly  as  it  passed 
And  quivered  in  waves  of  silver  eddies. 
To-day  there  is  the  startling  click  of  the  ma- 
chine 
As  the  great  bay  pair  walk  slowly  about. 
The  grasses  are  falling  like  shattered  hopes,  and 
The  sun  is  beating  down  upon  the  wilting,  warm 
Clover  and  the  ox-eyed  daisies  with  drooping 
Orange  petals.  Those  daisies  wilt  so  soon  after 
They  are  cut.    There  is  a  little  girl,  with  dark 

eyes, 
And  brown  curls  clinging  to  her  warm  pink  brow, 
Picking  up  the  flowers  —  poor  wilting  flowers: 
The  white  daisies  melt  like  snowdrops  in  spring, 
And  the  poppies  die  like  extinguished  flames. 
All  the  sweetness  of  the  meadow 
Is  charmed  forth  by  the  sun,  and  the  birds 
Are  singing  sweetly  as  they  flit  over  the  field 
Where  the  purple  grass  is  falling. 
73 


HAYING 

There  is  an  agitated  butterfly  fluttering  about 

Like  a  lost  soul  —  she  is  soaring  over  the  field 

And  the  dewdrops  are  her  tears. 

She  is  searching  for  something  —  she  poises 

And  floats  as  the  hawk  after  prey; 

She  is  not  hunting  to  kill,  but  there  was  a  clover 

She  loved  and  it,  too,  has  fallen. 

She  is  restless,  and  her  yellow  wings  flutter 

Helplessly  against  the  blue  sky. 

She  stayed  long  on  the  perfumed  plume  of  the 

clover 
Last  eve,  and  she  cannot  find  it  now. 
She  is  stifled  by  the  concentrated  sweetness 
Of  the  air  so  full  of  the  breath  of  warm  flowers. 
There  is  a  little  gray  mouse  scudding  like 
A  shadow  over  the  leveled  grass  and  flowers. 
The  mowing-machine  does  not  stop 
For  the  nest  of  a  little  brown  field-mouse. 
Under  the  shade  of  the  walnut  tree  there  is 
A  shiny  pail  filled  with  molasses  and  ginger. 
I  think  that  Ganymede  never  served  to  the  gods 
So  pleasing  a  drink. 
It  has  a  piece  of  crystal  ice  in  it, 
And  all   the  flower-sweetness  mingles  in   that 

pail; 

74 


HAYING 

That  is  why  it  never  tastes  the  same 

Anywhere  but  in  the  hay-field.   It  is  so 

Golden  brown  and  so  cool. 

The  sun  is  slowly  sinking  behind  the  hills, 

And  it  sends  out  a  golden  glow 

Over  the  field.  The  men  are  still  at  work 

Just  raking  the  last  bits  and  stacking 

It  in  cocks  —  oh,  the  sweetest,  lightest  cocks 

To  jump  in  and  bury  one's  self  in, 

And  listen  to  the  crackle  and  struggle 

Of  a  surprised  cricket,  and  smell  the  mingled 

Fragrance  of  every  field-grass  and  flower 

Warmed  by  the  delicious  summer  sun. 

Oh,  there  is  nothing  just  like  the  hay-field. 


TREE-FELLING 

On  a  lonely  far-off  hillside 
Where  great  pine  trees  grow, 
Where  the  clouds  hang  low  in  summer 
And  warm  breezes  blow; 
Where  the  dryads  and  the  wood-nymphs 
Dance  beneath  the  silver  moon 
Till  the  stars  come  down  to  meet  them 
And  the  night  is  all  in  tune  — 
On  the  lonely  far-off  hillside 
Rippled  by  a  silver  brook, 
And  the  moss  was  green  and  lovely  — 
Many  a  trout-pool,  many  a  nook 
Where  the  fairies  and  the  dryads, 
Gliding  from  the  hearts  of  trees. 
Gazed  upon  a  mirror  surface 
Till  it  vanished  in  the  breeze. 
To  the  lonely  far-off  hilltop, 
To  the  fairy-haunted  fell, 
Came  a  chopper  bringing  axes; 
Echoes  answered  through  the  dell, 
And  the  breeze  so  warm  in  summer 
Shrieked  and  moaned  until  the  wood 
76 


TREE-FELLING 

Answered  in  a  low,  deep  thunder 
All  the  fairies  understood. 
All  the  dryads  in  their  tree-trunks 
Trembled  till  their  anguish  swayed 
The  great  pine  trees  on  the  hillside 
And  a  deeper  moaning  made. 
Click!  the  axe  cuts  deep  and  cruel, 
And  the  chopper  stops  to  see 
That  a  fitful  snow  is  falling. 
Turns  and  chops  more  steadily. 
Strange!  he  thinks  the  snow  is  falling, 
He  will  never,  never  know 
That  the  dryad  of  his  pine  tree 
Has  a  spirit  like  the  snow; 
He  will  never  hear  her  moaning 
To  the  tree  that  held  her  long, 
If  he  does  hear  he  will  tell  you 
'T  is  the  echo  of  his  song. 


SELLING  THE  LOT 

'  Y'er  home  at  last  and  I  'm  glad  yer  be, 
I  ben  waitin'  fer  ye  to  come  see 
The  cow  that  was  sick,  she's  worse  to-night 
A-bellerin'  away  in  an  awful  plight. 
Ye'd  better  go  out  and  see  her  now, 
'Cause  we  can't  afford  to  lose  that  cow. 
The  summer  folks  '11  be  coming  along 
And  the  cows  and  the  hens  jest  can't  go  wrong. 
I  '11  get  yer  supper  while  yer  out, 
And  there's  something  else  I'll  tell  yer  about. 
Farmer  Stiles  was  over  to-day 
And  told  me  the  news  'fore  he  went  away, 
But  come,  yer  must  be  after  that  cow 
I  can't  stop  gossiping  it  seems,  anyhow." 

She  went  with  him  to  the  little  door 
And  gazed  a  moment  or  so  before 
Turning  to  cook  the  griddle  cake, 
And  take  out  the  pie  she  'd  left  to  bake. 
The  cattle  breath  and  the  smell  of  hay 
Mingled  with  the  odors  of  waning  day; 
78 


SELLING  THE  LOT 

A  stillness  threaded  the  evening  air 

And  the  breeze  ruffled  her  straight  gray  hair. 

A  hen  with  a  brood  of  little  chicks 

Cackled  and  clucked  between  her  picks; 

The  apple  tree  by  the  gate  to  the  road 

Blew  in  the  breeze  till  its  petals  snowed 

And  the  ground  beneath  was  pink  and  white 

Like  hoar  frost  in  the  fall  twilight. 

The  spring  with  the  old  pump,  mossy  green 

And  verdant  grass  that  oozed  between, 

Stood  there  in  the  evening  sun 

Like  a  traveler  when  his  journey  's  done. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  and  gazed  at  this: 

It  always  brought  her  happiness, 

It  always  left  the  shell  of  a  dream 

And  the  vision  of  things  she'd  never  seen. 

She  turned  and  vanished  in  the  gloom 
Of  the  little  farmhouse,  took  her  broom, 
Swept  the  floor,  and  set  aright 
The  kitchen  table  for  their  supper  that  night. 
Then  he  came  in  —  "Too  bad,"  he  said, 
'  But   that   cow 's   beyond    me,   she  's    lying 
dead; 

79 


SELLING  THE  LOT 

And  we  ain't  got  all  the  milk  we  need  — 

Them  summer  folks  is  hard  to  feed. 

I  '11  go  to  town  in  a  day  to  two 

And  see  if  there's  anything  there  I  can  do. 

Did  you  say  Jim  Stiles  was  over  to-day? 

How  is  he  and  what'd  he  have  to  say?" 

A  flicker  of  pain  flashed  in  her  eye 
As  she  cleared  her  throat  to  make  reply: 
"Well,  Silas,"  she  said,  "Jim  told  me  as  how 
He  and  the  new  man  had  an  awful  row 
Over  that  strip  of  land,  you  know, 
Between  us  and  Jeremiah  Snow. 
It  belonged  to  Jim  and  that  rich  new  man 
He's  trying  to  buy  all  the  land  he  can. 
I  guess  he'll  be  askin'  this  next  thing. 
Would  yer  sell  it,  Silas?  it  looks  good  this 
spring." 

Silas  was  silent  a  moment  or  two. 
"  I  '11  sell  that  land  the  last  thing  I  do, 
And  never  to  him  as  long  as  I  live, 
And  I  '11  make  the  will  so 's  never  to  give 
Him  a  chance  to  get  it;  look  what  he's  did! 
I  wish  to  heavens  the  place  was  rid 
8o 


SELLING  THE  LOT 

Of  him  and  his  likes  a-buying  land 

And  struttin'  around  feelin'  so  grand. 

Now  't  aint  that  I  'm  nasty, 

But  he  shan't  have  this  lot 

He  tells  them  around  here,  this  house 's  a  blot,  — 

Wall,  I  guess  we  'd  best  be  turnin'  in, 

Yer  gettin'  tired  and  a-lookin'  thin. 

It 's  a  long  time  since  yer  've  left  this  spot 

Yer  gettin'  stale  as  like  as  not." 

Through  the  weird  candle  shadows  they  stole  to 

bed; 
She  lay  awake,  and  thought  how  he'd  said 
She  was  gettin'  stale  —  would  they  ever  go 
Away  from  the  place  —  she  did  not  know 
Whether  or  not  she  wanted  to. 
But  she  dreamed  of  things  she  never  knew. 
To-morrow  would  be  the  very  same 
As  the  day  before  —  yet  they  say  life 's  a  game. 


THE  TELEPHONE 

I  ain't  lonely  now  like  I  used  to  be; 
It  *s  funny  how  little  '11  interest  me. 
I  uster  sit  there  day  after  day 
And  never  a  soul  'd  pass  my  way, 
'Cept  onct  a  month  the  old  mail-man 
He  alius  brings  me  what  news  he  can ; 
But  't  aint  so  much  —  now  I  ken  get 
Morn'n  a  day  than  I  used  ter  forget. 
You  see  we've  put  in  a  telephone, 
Since  they  run  the  wires  by  Jim  Malone's 
Wall ;  the  other  day  I  heerd  the  bell 
An  I  run  to  it  —  say,  yer  never  heerd  tell 
Sech  talk  as  it  was.  Yer  know  Jim  Lake 
And  that  gal  with  red  hair,  I  see  him  take 
Her  to  the  dance  in  Jake's  barn  last  night. 
He  called  her  to-day.    Guess  he  likes  her 
all  right 
"Hello,"  sez  he,  "how  be  yer  to-day?" 

She  did  n't  seem  ter  hev  much  ter  say. 
"All  right,"  sez  she,  "an'  how  are  you?" 
"Oh,  I'm  feelin'  fine  —  I  alius  do." 

83 


THE  TELEPHONE 

"How's  yer  mother,  is  her  cold  gone  yet?" 

"Yes,  it's  most  all  well,  now  if  she  don't  get 
No  more, — Say,  are  yer  comin'  over  to-night? 
I  was  thinkin'  as  how  perhaps  you  might." 

"I  guess  not  —  I  ain't  milked  the  cow, 
An'  it  's  pretty  muddy,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  no,  come  on,  it  ain't  so  bad  — 
I  wish't  yer  would,  mar'd  be  awful  glad." 

"Say,  why  don't  yer  talk  louder,  I  can't  hear; 
Yer  not  asleep,  are  yer,  yer  voice  ain't  clear  — 
Well,  I  guess  someone  else  is  listening  too." 
I  was  just  goin'  to  say  as  how  I  knew 
Better  and  thet  there  wa'n't  no  one. 
When  I  thought  as  how  it  would  n't  'a'  done. 
I  hung  up  all  shakin',  s'pose  they  knew 
That  I  'd  been  a-listenin'  to  them  too! 
But  anyhow  I  hev  a  lot  of  fun. 
An'  most  alius  they  don't  suspect  no  one; 
An*  I  hears  more  news  than  I  heerd  before  — 
There  's  the  bell  now  —  I  must  run  and  hear 
some  more. 


THE  SWAMP 

The  spring  grass  grows  green  first  in  the  swamp; 
The  elves  of  the  brown  earth 
Chip  slivers  from  a  huge  brilliant  emerald 
And  thrust  them  up  through  the  oozy  black 

swamp  mud 
And  the  sunshine  makes  them  warm  and  soft. 
It  is  thrilling  to  wander  through  a  swamp  in 

spring; 
There  are  many  odors  of  the  growing  things 
And  the  sunshine  is   always  deep  gold  in  the 

swamp ; 
The  cowslips  catch  the  sunbeams  as  they  steal 

up  through  the  earth, 
And  smile  them  back  into  the  slimy  water. 
There  is  a  wonderful   glisten  on  the  petals  of 

cowslips 
And  their  green  leaves  are  fresh  and  shiny 
And  smooth  for  the  fairies  to  dance  on. 
There  is  a  beautiful  mist  that  steals  over  the 

swamp  at  night, 
And  in  the  morning  it  is  all  gathered, 
And  lost  in  the  swamp  violets. 
84 


THE  SWAMP 

And  the  violet  fragrance  is  the  love-of-the-mist. 

The  huge  veined  leaves  of  the  skunk  cabbage 

Sway  in  the  breeze  and  seem  always  to  try  to  hide 

The  purple  and  yellow  hood  beneath. 

It  has  such  an  ugly  smell  when  you  pick  it 

And  bring  it  into  the  house; 

But  its  odor  mingles  with  all  the  spring  sweetness 

And  it  just  smells  swampy  out  of  doors, 

And  everyone  loves  the  odors  of  the  swamp. 

The  fuzzy  curled  fronds  are  fast  growing 

Into  the  beautiful  lacy  fan  of  the  summer  fern, 

And  they  smell  spicy  and  sweet. 

It  is  always  spring-time  cool  in  the  swamp 

In  the  summer  when  the  riot  of  flowers  come 

And  flash  their  brilliant  colors. 

Still  it  is  deliciously  cool, 

And  fire-flies,  the  souls  of  flowers,  glint  in 

Deepening  shadows  and  thread  the  swamp  mists. 

They  are  gathering  dewdrops  from  the  air; 

In  the  morning  they  melt  back  into  the  flowers 

again. 
Almost  every  flower  has  a  golden  chalice; 
The  ones  that  have  not  are  soulless 
And  the  swamps  do  not  love  flowers  without 
Fire-fly  souls. 


RED-WINGED  BLACKBIRD 

Up  from  the  swampy  meadow 
Where  the  tiger-lilies  grow, 
And  the  scarlet  cardinal  flowers 
On  their  slender  green  stems  blow, 
Where  the  silver  brook  is  calling 
And  rippling  to  the  breeze, 
Spot  of  black  and  flash  of  crimson 
Flitting  from  the  swamp-fed  trees. 
Did  you  touch  that  wing  a-flying 
On  a  maple's  blossom  red? 
For  the  same  clear  spot  of  color 
Flashes  as  you  float  o'erhead; 
As  you  flutter  bending  earthward 
On  the  jet-black  shiny  wing. 
Orange-red  as  maple  blossoms 
In  the  freshness  of  the  spring. 


86 


CHILDREN  AND   FAIRIES 


I 


FAIRY  OF  THE  LEOPARD  LILY 

Fairy  of  the  leopard  lily, 
Dancing  on  a  moonlit  sea, 
With  an  orange-spotted  petal 
Draped  in  splendor  over  thee. 

All  about  the  bells  are  ringing, 
Dainty  bluebells  silver  sweet. 
Don't  you  hear  a  soft,  soft  rustle, 
Fairy  wings  and  fairy  feet? 

Fairy  of  the  leopard  lily. 
Gliding  in  a  moonbeam  shell. 
With  a  sea-sprite  pink  as  sun  mists, 
Spirit  of  the  wildrose  dell. 

See,  a  golden  star  is  falling 
From  the  singing  summer  sky, 
Bright  within  the  shell  of  moonbeams, 
Glinting,  darting  fire-fly. 

All  about  the  moon-mist  waters 
Like  a  star  that  threads  the  blue 
89 


FAIRY  OF  THE  LEOPARD  LILY 

Glide  the  fairies  in  the  sea  shell 
Drawn  by  fire- flies  of  gold  dew. 

In  the  morning,  by  the  sea  shore, 
Where  the  moonbeam  shaft  was  drawn, 
Someone  found  a  scalloped  sea-shell 
Pink  as  are  the  skies  at  dawn. 

And  the  flaming  leopard  lily 
Swayed  in  anguish  on  the  hill, 
For  the  spirit  of  his  wild  rose 
Stayed  within  the  conch  shell  still. 


I 


.    SUNLIGHT  FAIRIES 

Over  the  sunlit  river, 
To  the  heart  of  the  silent  hills, 
The  fairies  of  light  are  dancing 
Like  golden  daffodils. 

They  gleam  on  the  silver  water 
And  smile  to  the  sea-shell  sky; 
They  sway  in  the  evening  stillness 
Like  love-thoughts  drifting  by. 

They  blaze  all  gold  on  the  treetops 
In  a  living,  shimmering  light, 
Till  the  evening  shadows  deepen 
That  beckon  the  mystic  night. 

Then  into  the  heart  of  the  massive  hills 
They  glide  like  a  river  of  gold, 
Until  the  petals  of  morning 
In  jonquil  light  unfold. 


91 


STAR  REFLECTIONS 

Out  of  the  mist  of  evening 

Into  the  twilight  sea, 

The  fairies  from  dreamland  come  fluttering 

In  a  film  of  mystery; 

And  the  diamond  dew  is  falling 

On  all  the  sleepy  flowers, 

Velvet  petals  gently  drooping 

With  the  music  of  the  hours. 

The  stars  in  the  drowsy  silence 

Shimmer  and  fade  and  glow; 

They  love  to  die  in  the  water, 

A  star  reflection  below. 

And  the  little  water-fairies, 

Who  dance  with  ripples  that  sway. 

Take  them  and  hold  them  for  hours 

Till  bloometh  the  rose  of  day. 

Then  they  kiss  each  star  and  it  floateth 

Up  through  the  morning  mist, 

Into  the  life  of  the  dawning  sky 

And  the  film  of  amethyst. 


ga 


FOXGLOVE 

Last  night  red  fox  was  naughty, 
He  made  faces  at  the  moon, 
And  called  the  baby  foxes 
To  the  council  rock  too  soon. 
He  scared  the  chickens  on  the  roost 
And  woke  the  wise  old  owl ; 
He  nosed  a  woodland  fairy. 
And  he  made  an  elf -man  howl. 

To-night  the  fairy  of  the  glen 

Chased  him  far  and  wide ; 

Red  fox  was  very  frightened 

But  he  did  n't  know  where  to  hide. 

He  ran  about  the  forest, 

And  the  dryads  joined  the  chase; 

The  elf-sprites  were  delighted 

And  laughed  at  his  disgrace. 

But  poor  red  fox  kept  running 
Till  he  was  tired  out; 
Then  he  crawled  beneath  the  garden  gate 
And  stopped  to  look  about. 
93 


FOXGLOVE 

But  there  the  fairies  caught  him 
And  held  him,  oh,  so  tight, 
Until  they  found  a  flower 
By  the  moon's  bright  light. 

They  put  one  on  each  naughty  paw, 
Which  made  it  hard  to  run  — 
A  fox  with  gloves !  The  fairies 
Thought  that  was  the  greatest  fun ! 
Then  poor  red  fox  got  up  and  walked 
As  good  as  he  could  be; 
And  ever  since  the  flower 
Has  had  that  name,  you  see: 
Foxglove  with  its  pretty  spots; 
And  so  I  've  understood 
That  fairies  put  it  on  the  hands 
Of  those  who  are  not  good. 


FAIRY  SNOWBALLS 

The  fairies  had  a  snowball  fight: 
They  made  the  balls  of  the  moon  all  night, 
They  threw  them  about  in  the  purple  sky, 
And  laughed  as  they  watched  them  gliding  by 
But  soon  they  wearied  of  this  wild  game; 
With  children  and  fairies  it's  just  the  same; 
And  they  left  the  silver  balls  lying  there, 
Moon-balls  all  glinting  and  gleaming  fair. 
Some  people  call  them  stars,  you  know, 
But  the  fairies  will  tell  you  it  is  not  so; 
And  if  you  watch  some  moon-strange  night. 
You  may  see  a  fairy  snowball  fight. 


95 


THE  SLEEP  FAIRIES 

From  out  the  valley  of  the  moon 
With  its  pale,  transparent  light, 
Fairies  come  floating  like  soaring  gulls, 
And  dance  on  the  hills  of  night. 

The  fairy  of  sleep,  with  her  drowsy  eyes 
And  beautiful  star-jeweled  hair, 
Wanders  all  dream-flower-laden, 
And  the  fragrance  fills  the  night  air. 

And  all  the  fairies  from  sleep-land 
In  rainbow  mists  gently  pass, 
Leaving  an  empty  dream-shell, 
The  diamond  dew  on  the  grass. 

And  the  white  moth  fairy  's  flitting 
Before  the  shimmering  moon ; 
The  frog  and  the  cricket  are  singing 
And  trying  to  get  in  tune. 

Just  as  the  sky  is  blushing 
With  a  thrill  for  the  love  of  the  day, 
Thousands  and  thousands  of  fairies 
Float  in  white  mists  away. 
96 


THE  ECHO  FAIRY 

The  echo  fairy 's  been  busy  to-day 
.Over  the  hills  and  far  away: 
He  caught  the  wind  by  his  streaming  hair 
And  held  him  till  he  filled  the  air 
With  moanings  loud  and  angry  shrieks 
That  echoed  afar  to  the  mountain  peaks. 
Then  the  echo  fair>'  went  over  the  sea 
And  caught  its  murmur  of  mystery. 
Then  back  he  flew  on  the  breath  of  the  breeze 
And  gave  the  sea-sound  to  the  swaying  trees. 
Then  he  flew  to  the  land  where  the  daylight 

dies 
And  gathered  the  petals  of  fading  skies. 
He  stole  a  dewdrop  and  flew  afar 
Till  it  echoed  in  the  morning  star. 
The  echo  fairy  has  lots  to  do 
Just  echoing  laughs  of  girls  like  you. 
He  tells  me  he  likes  that  best  of  all, 
And  he  bears  them  away  to  the  waters  that 

faU. 


97 


RAINBOWS 

I  FOUND  a  rainbow,  mother, 
From  the  icicle  light  in  the  hall, 
And  I  watched  the  rainbow  fairies 
Dancing  upon  the  wall. 

I  found  a  rainbow,  mother, 
In  the  diamond  spray  on  the  lawn ; 
I  watched  the  beautiful  colors  float  — 
But  now  they  are  all  gone. 

Do  the  fairies  paint  the  rainbows 
While  they  dance  in  the  colors  that  lie 
In  an  arch  that  touches  heaven 
And  sees  the  earth  whirl  by? 

Do  they  watch  from  the  bridge  of  colors. 
And  faint  in  a  misty  haze? 
Perhaps  they  all  come  gliding  back 
On  the  gold  of  the  sun's  warm  rays. 


98 


A  STAR  WEDDING 

The  stars  were  all  a -tremble  last  night, 
They  twinkled  and  shone  with  golden  light. 
*T  was  especially  thrilling  up  in  the  skies, 
Where  angels  dream  and  the  sleep-fairy  flies. 
You  see  a  bright  star  was  going  to  wed, 
And  she  was  very  lovely,  *t  is  said. 
Of  course,  the  moon  would  be  there,  too, 
Because  the  groom  was  a  moonbeam  true. 
A  circle  of  light  played  round  the  star. 
At  least  that's  the  way  it  looked  from  afar; 
But  't  was  really  the  moonbeam  crowning  her 
With  the  light  of  his  life  —  the  other  stars 

were 
All  thrilling  in  gold  through  the  purple  sky 
As  the  star  and  her  moonbeam  glided  by. 
On  through  the  velvet  night  they  sped; 
They  were  coming  to  earth  because  they  were 

wed, 
And  there  they  could  live  and  love  and  gleam 
Till  the  skies  called  them  back  on  the  breath 

of  a  dream. 

99 


,  A  STAR  WEDDING 

We  saw  them  in  their  earthward  flight, 
A  glorious  stream  of  living  light; 
And  many  thought  't  was  a  comet,  but  we 
Knew  't  was  the  star  and  her  moonbeam  set 
free. 


THE  ANGELS'   PATH 

Moonlight  over  a  sleeping  world 
And  a  misty  veil  of  dreams, 
Studded  with  golden  starry  light 
And  woven  of  soft  moonbeams. 

Moonlight  over  a  silent  sea 
And  a  hazy  swaying  light, 
A  quivering,  changing  path  of  gold 
For  the  angels  of  the  night. 


lOI 


HIDE-AND-SEEK  WITH  THE  STARS 

The  daisies  last  night  played  hide-and-seek 
With  the  stars,  and  they  promised  not  to  peek 
Till  the  little  star  fairies  were  hid  in  the  sky 
And  the  angel  of  morning  was  passing  by. 
One  poor  little  daisy  shut  her  petals  tight, 
But  she  heard  all  the  stars  hiding  through  the 

night. 
How  could  she  help  but  take  one  peep, 
And  then  she  said,  "I'll  go  to  sleep." 
She  opened  her  petals  soft  as  could  be, 
Then   she   looked   about,   and    what    did  she 

see? 
Only  one  little  golden  star 
That  was  n't  yet  hid  in  the  morning  far. 
But  the  angel  of  dawn,  who  saw  her  peek. 
Laid  a  dewy  hand  upon  her  cheek. 
The  daisy  cried,  for  well  she  knew 
That  to  peek  was  a  naughty  thing  to  do. 
All  day  she  was  sad  while  the  other  flowers 
Trembled  and  thrilled  through  the  sunlit  hours, 
Waiting  for  the  dusky  eve  to  play 
Hide-and-seek  with  the  stars  so  gay 

102 


HIDE-AND-SEEK  WITH  THE  STARS 

And  tried  to  find  where  the  night  before 
They'd  hidden  themselves.   But  the  poor, 
Sad  little  daisy  could  n't  play, 
'Cause  she  peeked,  and  that's  not  a  daisy's 
way. 


THE  SMELLING-SALTS  AT  THE 
DANCE 

We  sat  there  each  day  and  every  night, 
Forever  on  a  plain  cloth  of  white, 
And  we  talked  to  the  brush  and  the  nail-file  too, 
But  we  longed  for  something  more  to  do. 

Sometimes  her  delicate  fingers  would  touch 
One  of  us,  and  we  thrilled  so  much ; 
But  you  see  we  were  only  her  smelling-salts 
And  even  we  have  our  grievous  faults. 

My  lady  was  pink  and  I  was  blue. 

And  we  loved  as  bottles  all  must  do. 

It  was  hard  to  wait  for  the  silver  light 

Of  the  swaying  moonbeams  to  come  each  night. 

You  see  it  was  then  we  had  our  fun 
And  the  bureau  frolic  was  begun. 
One  night,  when  all  were  snug  in  bed. 
We  had  a  dance,  and  powder-box  led. 

The  comb  and  brush  were  gliding  about 
And  all  the  cologne  came  leaking  out. 
104 


THE  SMELLING-SALTS  AT  THE  DANCE 

You  see  the  cologne  bottle  lost  his  head 
Over  a  mirror-lady  he  longed  to  wed. 

And  we,  my  lass  of  pink  and  I, 
Danced  till  we  thought  our  odor  would  die. 
Next  morning  the  lady  awoke  to  see 
The  bureau  most  disorderly. 

'T  was  rather  mean,  yet  we  could  n't  tell 
When  all  the  blame  on  her,  poor  maid,  fell. 
We  were  all  most  terribly  sleepy  next  day ; 
The  powder-puff  fainted  and  fell  away. 

The  button-hook  dropped  to  the  floor  with  a  bang, 
And  told  the  shoe  that  it  could  "go  hang." 
It 's  terrible  after  a  dance,  you  know. 
We  're  all  so  stiff,  but  we  all  love  it  so  1 


LOST 

I  LOST  my  temper  yesterday, 
And  thought,  What  shall  I  do? 
I  hate  to  go  without  my  temper  — ■ 
Tell  me,  would  n't  you? 

I  looked  behind  the  kitchen  stove 
And  underneath  the  chair, 
But  still  I  could  n't  find  my  temper, 
No,  not  anywhere. 

Then  I  looked  behind  the  bathtub. 
Where  the  brightest  sunlight  shone. 
And  I  saw  a  fairy  smiling 
At  what  she  was  sitting  on. 

An  ugly  black  shadow 
That  tried  to  get  away; 
But  I  knew  it  was  my  temper 
And  I  said.  No,  not  to-day. 

So  I  slipped  it  in  my  pocket, 
But  I  took  the  fairy  too; 
Because  the  fairy  of  a  smile 
Can  keep  your  temper  for  you. 
1 06 


A  LONELY  ALLIGATOR 

Far  from  the  silver  water, 
Far  from  the  wooded  strand, 
They  brought  him,  a  crawling  reptile, 
To  a  strange  and  far-off  land. 

Far  from  the  tropic  breezes 
That  fan  the  dizzy  air. 
They  brought  him,  ugly  reptile, 
With  dreams  of  his  home  so  fair. 

They  brought  him  to  his  prison  — 
No  golden  glinting  sand. 
No  palm  trees  to  whisper  to  him. 
No  sun  in  this  foreign  land. 

And  he  dreamed  all  night  of  the  tropics, 
Till  a  moonbeam  gliding  by 
Paused  a  trembling  moment 
And  heard  a  longing  sigh. 

Then  she  brought  a  dream  before  him, 
Of  a  sunlit  glittering  sea, 
107 


A  LONELY  ALLIGATOR 

And  a  mate  that  was  calling,  calling 
From  under  a  great  palm  tree. 

And  he  crawled  away  to  meet  her, 
And  called  the  love-call  back; 
What  mattered  the  prison  to-morrow 
After  the  joy  of  that! 


CHILDHOOD 

I  THINK  long,  long  ago,  before  I  learned  to  walk, 
I  used  to  hear  the  fairies  and  woodland  elfins 

talk. 
I  seem  just  to  remember  a  fairy  bright  and  gay 
Who  played  with  me  and  laughed  with  me  all 

the  livelong  day. 
I  wish  she  would  come  back  again,  the  fairy  of  a 

smile. 
And  play  with  me  till  I  forgot  my  sadness  all  the 

while. 
There  were  fairies  in  the  flowers  and  fairies  in 

the  trees, 
There  were  fairies  in  the  whisper  of  every  evening 

breeze. 
Dear  fairies,  come  again  to-night  and  play  within 

my  heart: 
The  echo  of  thy  voices  make  childhood  visions 

start. 


109 


A  SAIL  ON  THE  MOON 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  fairy 
Who  rides  on  the  shining  moon  — 
A  merry-go-round,  with  the  little  stars 
All  playing  their  wondrous  tune? 
I  saw  him  one  night  when  the  moonbeams 
Had  not  reached  down  from  the  sky 
To  take  their  little  fairy 
Up  to  the  moon  on  high. 
He  sat  on  a  soft  brown  mushroom 
Under  the  sighing  trees; 
He  whispered  and  laughed  with  pleasure, 
And  teased  the  evening  breeze. 
At  last  the  moonbeam  came  streaming 
Through  the  branches  and  lay 
In  quivering  golden  silence 
To  take  the  fairy  away. 
I  stepped  on  the  beautiful  moonbeam 
While  it  lay  trembling  there, 
And,  do  you  believe  me,  dearest? 
It  bore  me  upon  the  air 
Into  the  purple  shades  of  night 
To  the  shining  orb  of  the  moon, 
no 


A  SAIL  ON  THE  MOON 

And  I  heard  the  little  golden  star 
Playing  a  wondrous  tune. 
And  then  the  moon  began  to  sail  — 
O,  dearest,  try  it  some  day: 
Step  on  a  golden  moonbeam 
And  let  it  bear  you  away. 


SUNBEAM 

Where  is  the  golden  sunbeam 
That  came  to  your  room  to-day? 
Did  the  elf  of  cloudland  come,  dear, 
And  carry  it  far  away? 

Ah  no,  I  see  it  peeping 
From  out  a  baby  curl; 
That  beautiful  shining  sunbeam 
Is  part  of  my  little  girl. 

Should  the  elf  of  cloudland  come,  dear, 
To  take  the  sun  from  your  hair, 
Just  smile,  and  the  little  sunbeam 
Will  hide  in  your  dimples  there. 


112 


FAIRIES 

Fairies,  when  the  moon  is  high 
And  the  stars  are  passing  by, 
Fairies  of  the  silver  sea, 
Dancing,  dancing  merrily. 

Fairies,  when  the  morn  is  pale 
And  the  lily's  waking  frail, 
Fairies  on  the  shimmering  sea, 
Dancing,  dancing  happily. 

Fairies,  when  the  sun  is  up 
Poising  on  a  flower's  cup, 
Fairies  on  the  golden  sea, 
Dancing,  dancing  merrily. 

Fairies,  fluttering  near  the  rose, 
Smiling  while  her  petals  close, 
Fairies  on  a  sunset  sea. 
Dancing,  dancing  happily. 


1x3 


/ 


MORNING  MISTS 

Fairies  with  your  wings  a-quiver 
Underneath  the  pale  moonlight 
You  have  gayly  danced  and  frolicked 
With  the  spirits  of  the  night. 
Purple  silence  overspreading 
Drowns  the  voices  of  the  sea, 
Till  they  murmur  gently,  gently, 
Echoing  fairy  revelry. 
Far  beyond  the  hazy  hilltops 
Rise  bright  fairies  to  the  day; 
Morning  mists  we  often  call  them 
As  we  watch  them  float  away. 


114 


THE  ECHO  OF  A  LAUGH 

Away,  way  up  the  mountain-side 
A  beautiful  fairy  queen 
Reigns  o'er  the  moonlight  fairies, 
Two  bands  called  Shimmer  and  Sheen. 
The  shimmering  fairies  go  threading 
Their  golden  way  in  the  sky. 
Till  they  hear  the  sound  of  laughter 
As  they  are  flitting  by. 
They  gather  the  ringing  melody, 
And  before  they  are  even  seen. 
Fly  back  and  give  the  music 
To  the  silvery  band  of  sheen. 
All  night  in  the  heart  of  the  forest, 
To  the  music  of  laughter  gay, 
The  moonlight  fairies  of  shimmer  and  sheen 
While  the  hours  away, 
Until  the  last  star-fairy 
Smiles  from  the  morning  sky. 
And  the  lovely  silver  sheen  fairies 
Take  the  echoes  of  laughter  and  fly 
Back  to  the  children  who  smile  at  dawn 
And  lay  them  on  the  bed. 
lis 


THE  ECHO  OF  A  LAUGH 

Some  children  say  a  sunbeam 

Is  playing  about  their  head. 

They  never  guess  that  the  sheen  fairies 

Have  brought  the  echo  there, 

To  make  the  day  seem  happier 

When  it  ripples  in  laughter  fair. 


THE  LOST  FAIRY  AND  THE 
AUTUMN   LEAF 

A  POOR  little  starbeam  fairy 

Lost  himself  last  night 

Along  the  path  of  the  autumn  moon : 

She  dazzled  him  with  her  light. 

Poor  little  starbeam  fairy 
Did  n't  know  what  to  do; 
So  he  played  he  was  a  sunbeam, 
And  no  one  ever  knew. 

But  at  eve,  when  the  golden  sunlight 
Called  his  children  home, 
The  poor  little  make-believe  sunbeam 
Was  left  on  earth  all  alone. 

At  first  he  was  terribly  lonely, 

And  almost  began  to  cry, 

When  he  spied  more  make-believe  sunbeams 

Peeping  at  him  close  by. 

And  then  began  such  a  frolic 
As  you  never  saw  before; 
117 


THE  LOST  FAIRY 

The  little  starbeam  fairy 
Was  n't  sad  any  more. 

He  took  an  autumn  leaf  by  the  hand, 
And  danced  all  that  beautiful  night, 
And  the  moon  did  n't  dazzle  his  eyes  again, 
But  she  smiled  on  such  star  delight. 

Next  morning  the  starbeam  fairy 
Danced  to  the  morning  breeze ; 
A  little  girl  saw,  and  said,  laughing, 
'Oh,  look  at  those  playful  leaves!" 


FOREST  STREAM 

Where  the  rippling  stream  is  brightest 
And  the  golden  sun  is  lightest, 
Where  the  shadows  glide  and  play 
In  rhythmic  ripples  all  the  day, 
Where  the  cadence  of  a  song 
Fairy-uttered  all  night  long, 
Echoes  in  amongst  the  leaves 
Of  the  murmuring  sighing  trees; 
Where  the  moss  is  cool  and  green, 
Where  the  moonlight  leaves  its  sheen,. 
And  the  fairies  of  the  night 
Dance  to  ripples  of  starlight,  — 
Take  me  there  and  let  me  be 
A  fairy  of  forest  mystery. 


"9 


A  THOUGHT 

Through  the  dark  and  sombre  pine  trees 
Slipped  a  golden  gleam  of  love; 
Woodland  fairies  hovering  near  it 
Dreamed  a  star  fell  from  above. 
And  they  fluttered  in  the  pale  light, 
As  our  visions  'round  a  thought 
Quiver  in  translucent  mystery 
Till  reality  is  caught. 


120 


SNOW 

I  WISH  I  knew  what  became  of  the  snow 
After  the  winter  is  gone. 
Is  it  lost  in  the  first  white  snowdrop 
When  the  warm  sunlight  has  shone? 

No,  I  see  it  there  in  the  heavens 
That  used  to  be  cold  and  gray; 
Clouds  heaped  so  white  and  snow-like, 
And  they  drift  o'er  the  fields  where  snow  lay. 

They  will  fall  again  next  winter, 
Those  beautiful  clouds  of  white, 
And  lie  sparkling  in  the  sunshine 
With  diamond  stars  of  light. 


121 


WHO  CALLS  THE  FLOWERS? 

Mother,  who  let  the  snowdrop  out 
From  under  the  cold,  dark  ground? 
And  where  did  the  crocus  come  from. 
This  one  that  you  just  found? 

I  think  a  fairy  came  to  them, 
And  with  her  wand  of  light 
Wakened  the  pretty  flowers 
From  their  sleep  of  winter  night. 

Do  you  think  it  was  a  fairy,  dear, 
Who  brought  the  flowers  of  spring? 
Who  talks  to  the  birds  at  evening 
Until  they  gently  sing? 

No,  dear,  it  is  God's  angel 
Who  kissed  away  the  snow, 
And  called  the  little  flowers 
To  see  the  sun  and  grow. 


122 


THE  FAST  LITTLE  CLOCK 

*T  WAS  the  prettiest  clock  you  ever  saw 
When  it  smiled  its  charming  half-past  four; 
And  it  ticked  and  ticked  with  alluring  tone 
In  the  brightest  way  you  have  ever  known. 

The  great  hall  clock  frowned  in  despair 
At  the  dainty  clock  with  the  piquant  air. 
There  was  one  fault  that  she  really  had, 
And  grandfather  clock  thought  her  very  bad. 

She  was  fast;  yes,  alas,  we  must  admit. 
And  besides  she  did  n't  care  one  bit. 
She  tossed  her  delicate  hands  'fore  her  face, 
And  chimed  with  glee  at  the  very  wrong  place. 

A  moonbeam  fell  in  love  with  her, 
But  grandfather  clock  would  ever  demur. 
Saying,  clocks  that  are  fast  must  never  wed 
But  be  punished  very  severely  instead. 

One  night  the  moonbeam  trembled  near 
To  the  fast  little  clock  he  loved  so  dear, 
123 


THE  FAST  LITTLE  CLOCK 

And  said:  "The  stars  in  the  sky '11  not  be 
Aghast  that  you're  fast,  in  the  least  degree." 

So  she  went  with  him  on  the  moon's  gold  light 
And  her  lovely  chiming  was  heard  all  night. 
The  fast  little  clock 's  as  glad  as  can  be, 
Yet  the  jeweler  said  she  was  broken,  you  see. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  UMBRELLA 

There  was  a  green  vase  in  the  hall 
Just  behind  the  door, 
Where  all  the  canes  were  left,  you  know, 
Instead  of  on  the  floor. 
The  tennis  rackets  stayed  there  too 
All  through  the  summer  days ; 
But  they  were  elite  and  went  somewhere 
For  the  winter  months  always. 
But  there  was  one  umbrella  there, 
A  lady  of  high  degree. 
She  wore  green  silk  and  her  handle  was 
As  shiny  as  could  be. 
The  hickory  cane  with  the  golden  head 
Loved  her,  and  every  night 
The  two  would  stroll  about  the  house 
In  the  spell  of  the  deep  midnight. 
They  were  really  going  to  be  married, 
And  the  hall-clock  smiled  with  glee. 
For  he  was  going  to  marry  the  cane, 
To  the  umbrella  of  high  degree. 
One  summer's  eve,  e'er  the  nuptial  day 
Was  set,  the  door-bell  rang; 
125 


/ 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  UMBRELLA 

The  canes  and  umbrellas  thrilled  with  delight 

For  't  was  then  their  fun  began. 

They  never  knew  just  who  would  come, 

And  they  always  loved  to  see; 

Perhaps  Sir  Golf  Club  or  Base-ball  Bat 

Or  le  Frangais  parapluie. 

To-day,  oh,  thrills!  who  should  there  come 

To  the  green  vase  in  the  hall. 

And  smile  on  the  canes  that  languished  there, 

But  the  lovely  Miss  Parasol. 

She  was  so  dainty,  all  pink  and  white, 

With  her  beautiful  ivory  head, 

The  gold-headed  cane  was  entranced  by  her, 

He  forgot  he  was  going  to  wed. 

The  clock  in  the  hall  frowned  half-past  four 

And  spoke  to  the  frivolous  cane; 

The  green  umbrella  wept  as  though 

She  'd  just  come  in  from  the  rain. 

At  last  Miss  Parasol  sweetly  smiled 

And  ruffled  a  lacy  good-bye; 

We  never  knew  what  became  of  that  cane, 

Miss  Parasol  and  L 


THE  LAMENT  OF  A  FEATHER 

What  a  sad  ending! 
Packed  so  tight  we  cannot  hear 
Our  shrill-throated  chanticleer, 
Cannot  see  the  sun's  first  light 
That  used  to  wake  him  after  night  — 
What  a  bother !   Here  we  are 
Packed  like  sardines  in  a  jar: 
I,  who  used  to  glint  and  shine 
In  the  sun,  now  peak  and  pine 
In  a  pillow.   Oh,  I  hate  it! 
Yes,  I  knew  my  life  was  fated; 
For  the  coxcomb  told  me  so; 
He 's  the  soothsayer  you  must  know, 
And  he  said  my  life  would  be 
Very  dark,  and  you  can  see 
That  every  word  he  said  was  true. 
I  tickled  my  hen,  all  feathers  do 
If  ever  they  get  excited,  and  then 
We  ruffle  a  laugh  at  the  funny  old  hen. 
But  dear  me,  those  good  days  are  o'er, 
I  don't  tickle  hens  or  laugh  any  more 
127 


/ 


THE  LAMENT  OF  A  FEATHER 

In  this  stuffy  pillow  —    Never  mind,  some  day 

I  '11  scramble  out  and  get  away. 

My  sister  did  it,  but  sad  to  tell 

A  worse  fate  was  hers  —  she  fell 

Into  a  dust-pan  all  shiny  and  black; 

Just  as  she  thought  she  liked  shellac, 

A  hurricane  blew  her  with  bristly  ire 

Into  the  hungry  flames  of  the  fire. 

Oh,  my  poor  sister!  I  heard  her  cry, 

As  she  flew  up  the  chimney,  a  feath'ry  good-bye. 


IF  I  WERE  A   RED,   RED   CHERRY 

If  I  were  a  red,  red  cherry 
Away  up  in  a  tree, 
With  lovely,  shiny  skin 
And  warm  sunbeams  on  me, 
I  think  the  thing  I  'd  like  the  best 
Would  be  to  touch  the  sky  — 
It  comes  so  near  to  cherry  trees. 
And,  of  course,  I'd  grow  up  high 
Where  little  boys  can't  reach,  you  know, 
And  where  the  butterflies 
Please  to  flutter  —  Oh  I  would 
Just  love  to  touch  the  skies, 
And  feel  the  softness  of  the  clouds 
In  banks  of  snowy  white ; 
I  'd  love  to  stay  and  touch  the  moon 
When  it  comes  out  at  night. 
If  I  could  touch  the  soft  blue  sky, 
I  would  never  be  afraid 
Of  the  robins  and  the  crows  because 
They  do  not  dare,  it 's  said, 
Eat  a  cherry  if  it  can  but 
Reach  the  soft  blue  sky. 
Perhaps  I  '11  be  a  cherry  some  day 
And  have  a  chance  to  try. 
129 


I   CANNOT  UNDERSTAND 

Papa  is  very  polite,  you  know, 
And  Mama  says  I  must  be 
Just  like  him  —  take  off  my  hat 
When  a  lady  speaks  to  me. 
And  always  stand  when  older  folks 
Come  in,  and  tell  them  all 
How  glad  I  am  to  see  them. 
And  't  was  nice  of  them  to  call. 

Papa  is  very  polite  you  know : 

He  carries  things  for  Mama. 

Of  course,  it  does  n't  make  much 

difference 
Just  how  heav>'  they  are. 
The  other  day  Papa  and  I 
Were  walking  home  together; 
The  rain  was  falling  and  the  wind 
Just  made  it  awful  weather. 
There  was  an  old  woman  walking 
With  a  big  bundle  in  her  hand. 
Why  did  n't  my  Papa  help  her? 
I  cannot  understand. 
130 


THE  LOST  THOUGHT 

Far  away  in  the  land  of  the  stars 
Where  the  golden  moonbeams  play, 
And  the  starlight  fairies  hide  at  night 
When  they  hear  the  whisper  of  day; 

Far  away  from  the  hands  of  life, 
Over  the  sea  of  dreams, 
A  beautiful  love-thought  went  astray 
And  was  lost  in  star-land  gleams. 

Long  it  wandered  among  the  stars 
And  played  with  the  moonbeams  light, 
Till  one  tender,  beautiful  moonbeam 
Brought  it  to  thee  in  the  night. 


131 


MOTHER'S  FLOWERS 

I  HAVE  a  lovely  little  garden  with  lots  of  pretty 

flowers; 
And  they  like  the  nice  warm  sunshine  and  they 

love  the  gentle  showers. 
It's  fun  to  see  their  tiny  eyes  shining,  oh,  so 

bright, 
When  it's  been  raining  ever  so  hard  all  through 

the  night. 
Mother   has    some    pretty    flowers,    roses    and 

pansies  too, 
On  a  little  cloth  for  the  table  —  it's  just  about 

sky-blue ; 
But  those  poor  flowers  nearly  died  because  the 

rain  can't  fall 
On  them  and  make  their  eyes  shine  bright,  and 

the  sun  can't  come  at  all, 
So  I  took  a  pitcher  yesterday  and  gave  them 

water  to  drink ; 
I  don't  see  why  God  forgot  them  and  mother 

was  angry,  I  think. 


132 


DREAM-CHILDREN 

Just  a  bubble;  it  touched  the  earth  there,  see! 
Just  a  dream  and  it  touched  reality. 

By  the  fireside,  in  the  golden  flames. 
Two  children  are  sitting  playing  games. 
Soft  flaxen  curls  about  her  head 
And  his  dark  brown  just  tinged  with  red. 
Oh,  see  the  soap-bubble  floats  in  the  air; 
The  colors  are  so  lovely  —  rainbow  fair; 
And  how  they  love  to  watch  it !  Mother  dear, 
'T  will  touch  you  and  be  broken ;  look,  it 's  near! 

I  think  it  touched;  there's  nothing  now  to  see, 
But  a  drop  of  water  where  the  bubble  should  be. 


133 


f^ 


MOTHER-LOVE 

The  last  ember  died  in  the  fire-grate; 
With  it  her  life-light  was  extinguished; 
And  she  left  this  for  her  baby  child  — 
Perhaps  it  was  because  it  was  all  she  had, 
Perhaps  she  had  a  reason  which  God  knew. 
It  was  a  mirror  —  a  little  piece  of  forest  brook 
Where  there  were  no  ripples,  where  it  was  smooth. 

The  child  gazed  sadly  into  the  mirror; 

She  saw  her  mother's  face  —  she  was  crying: 

"O  Manda,  mother  is  sad  and  it  is  raining; 

I  am  sad  too  —  I  am  sad  like  the  evening  breeze.** 

Manda  looked  into  the  mirror; 

She  kissed  the  child  and  the  child  smiled. 

"Look  again  in  the  mirror,"  Manda  said. 

"Oh,  mother  is  happy  now,  her  face  is  smiling." 

"Yes,"  said  Manda,  "mothers  are  happy  when 

Their  beloved  children  are." 


134 


FANS,   FANCIES  AND   FRIVOLITIES 


WHY? 

Why  do  your  eyes  say  one  thing  and  your  lips 

another? 
I  hear  you  speaking  of  the  lightest  things  in  life, 
Things  for  a  child  to  say,  and  laughing  as  a  child. 
I  hear  you  laugh  and  see  excitement  take  you 
By  the  hand  —  whisper  something  in  your  ear, 
And  you  speak  of  life's  most  sacred  things  in 
A  mocking  ridiculous  jest. 

And  I  look  into  your  eyes,  beyond  the  outer  blue 
To  thy  inner  self,  thy  silent  thoughtful  self  that 

I  love. 
And  your  eyes  do  not  say  what  your  lips  are 

saying. 
Why  do  your  eyes  say  one  thing  and  your  lips 

another? 
Why  does  your  mind  stay  back  like  a  frightened 

deer 
In  the  thicket,  while  you  utter  thoughtless  vani- 
ties? 
Your  truthful  eyes  tell  me  that  you  love 
A  sacred  thing  —  sacred  of  all  things,  and. 
Being  so,  the  easiest  to  revile.   It  were  useless 
137 


WHY? 

To  say  more.   I  see  your  eyes  say  they 
Are  longing  for  something,  — •  peace,  quiet, 
A  sunny  field  and  a  grass-banked  brook 
Where  cowslips  grow  and   honey-suckle  scents 

the  air. 
Your  lips  say  you  are  delighted  here. 
Odors  of  perfume  stolen  from  the  fields. 
Words  do  not  paint  the  contrast  as  vividly  as  I 

know 
It  is  painted  in  your  own  heart.  Still  I 
Must  wonder  why  your  eyes  say  one  thing 
And  your  lips  another. 


HER  NEW  FAN 

She  took  me  with  her  last  night  to  the  ball ; 
I  was  her  most  favored  trinket  of  all ; 
For  she  held  me  in  her  hands,  you  see, 
And  often  whispered  and  laughed  through  me. 
At  dinner  I  lay  on  the  cloth  of  white 
And  blinked  in  the  dazzling  shining  light. 
I've  never  heard  such  a  noise  in  my  life; 
I  did  n't  dare  speak  even  to  the  knife 
That  lay  beside  me  and  smiled  with  glee 
For  he  was  used  to  such  gayety. 
My  lady  was  laughing,  and  talking  too 
About  such  funny  things  perhaps  she  knew; 
But  I,  being  only  a  feathery  fan, 
Don't  understand  all  some  people  can. 
At  ten  by  the  grandfather  clock  in  the  hall 
We  started  off  for  the  country-club  ball. 
"Hello,  Louise,  I  just  love  your  dress," 
My  lady  smiled  in  prettiness; 
"Oh  would  you  please  see  if  my  powder  shows  - 
I  had  to  put  such  a  lot  on  my  nose. 
I  love  your  hair,  will  you  show  me  how 
You  do  it  some  day?   I  love  the  bow  — 
139 


HER  NEW  FAN 

Oh  come,  let's  go  now.  Where's  my  fan? 
Can  you  keep  yours?   I  never  can." 
That  hurt  my  feelings  a  bit,  you  know. 
And  I  felt  my  feathers  softly  blow. 
Then  we  went  upstairs  and  she  laughed  some  more 
With  the  men  who  were  standing  at  the  door. 
More  glaring  lights  and  a  strange  loud  sound ; 
I  ruffled  my  feathers  and  looked  around. 
She  said,  "Have  you  seen  Louise  to-night? 
Her  dress  is  ugly,  a  perfect  fright. 
I  don't  see  how  her  mother  can 
Let  her  wear  it  —  and  oh,  her  fan! 
But  come,  I  'm  dying  to  dance,  are  n't  you? 
Oh,  look!  There's  Sally,  she's  dressed  in  blue, 
And  the  way  she's  done  her  hair  is  new." 
To  repeat  all  I  heard  in  the  next  few  hours 
Is  beyond  me  and  all  my  fan -like  powers; 
But  if  you  want  to  know,  read  this  again, 
For  all  she  said  seemed  just  the  same. 
At  last,  when  morning  was  almost  here, 
My  lady  and  I  came  home,  —  I  fear^ 
A  little  the  worse  for  wear. 
She  sat  by  the  mirror  and  looked  at  her  hair. 
Perhaps  the  mirror  could  tell  you  best 
Just  what  she  thought  and  all  the  rest. 
140 


HER  NEW  FAN 

She  put  me  away  with  her  old,  old  fan, 

And  we  talked  together  as  only  fans  can, 

While  I  told  of  all  that  had  happened  that  night 

Under  the  glaring  electric  light. 

The  old  fan  spoke  in  a  voice  soft  and  low: 

"My  child,  it  was  just  so  years  ago." 

To-morrow  we  '11  talk  to  the  minuet  fan 

And  see  if  't  was  the  same  since  her  life  began. 


A  QUESTION 

Why  do  you  like  her?  I  should  love  to  know. 

She  is  very  pretty,  I  grant  you  that, 

And  your  favorite  flower's  the  one  on  her  hat; 

And  she  is  a  girl  and  very  sweet  — 

The  kind  of  a  girl  all  men  like  to  meet, 

With  golden  hair  either  curly  or  curled 

And  teeth  very  pretty,  white  and  pearled; 

Her  eyes  are  lovely,  most  all  girls'  are, 

And  they  do  have  brightness  like  a  star, 

Especially  if  they  like  you ;  but  oh, 

I  forgot,  it 's  why  you  like  her  I  want  to  know. 

Well,  that's  hard  to  explain,  if  you  analyze, 
Love  must  always  take  us  by  surprise. 
I  don't  know  just  why  —  you  say  she's  a  girl. 
And  she  's  very  pretty  with  hair  a-curl 
And  tender  eyes  that  laugh  into  mine; 
I  like  to  watch  them  when  they  shine. 
I  don't  really  love  her,  not  yet  anyway, 
I  might,  you  know,  yes,  I  might  some  day. 
She  is  different  from  me,  but  that 's  the  best  way — 
Something  you  know,  like  the  night  and  day; 
142 


A  QUESTION 

And  I  like  in  her  what 's  lacking  in  me  — 

Laughter  and  fun  and  frivolity. 

It's  such  a  good  change  from  my  prosy  life 

Of  everyday  work  and  toil  and  strife ; 

And  she  has  brains,  not  the  brains  of  a  man, 

But  a  bright,  quick  mind  that  understands 

All  the  delicate  lightness  of  life, 

And  that,  too's  a  change  from  my  strain  and 

strife, 
But  there's  no  one  reason  that  I  like  her,  you 

see  — 
Just  she's  a  pretty  girl  and  attractive  to  me. 


THE  MIRROR  OF  A   FICKLE  GIRL 

She  bought  a  new  hat  yesterday, 
With  roses  pink  and  a  bow  of  gray. 
It  was  very  pretty  —  she  thought  so,  too; 
Girls  always  will  when  a  hat  is  new. 
The  minute  it  came,  in  its  striped  box, 
She  put  it  on  her  soft  brown  locks, 
And  the  tissue  paper  blew  to  the  floor  — 
The  mirror  smiled  —  "How  many  more 
Hats,  I  wonder,  am  I  going  to  see. 
And  reflect  each  'as  pretty  as  can  be  '  ?" 
How  much  the  shiny  mirrors  could  tell 
If  we  listened,  for  they  know  too  well, 
Not  only  what  we  are  wont  to  say, 
But  they  know  all  our  thoughts  —  gay 
And  sad.  She  put  on  the  hat  and  smiled  to  see 
How  pretty  she  looked  — ' '  Will  he  like  it  on  me  ? ' ' 
The  mirror  heard  her  whisper,  and  thought, 
"I  wonder  for  whom  this  hat  was  bought." 
Had  ever  a  mirror  so  much  to  do 
In  reflecting  and  remembering  who 
Had  to  be  pleased  by  each  new  hat ! 
Oh,  we  mirrors  are  always  doing  that. 
144 


HIDE  AND  SEEK 

I  CANNOT  find  you ; 

I  have  hunted,  but  in  vain. 

I  must  call  you  forth 

Or  else  you  will  have  to  speak  and  tell  me 

Where  you  are. 

I  cannot  find  your  real  self; 

I  have  searched  and  thought  I  found  it; 

But  I  know  it  is  not  your  real  self  now: 

This  tinsel  clink  of  flattery,  these  light  words, 

They  are  not  uttered  by  your  real  self. 

Is  it  that  you  have  very  cleverly  hid  yourself, 

and  do  not  want 
Me  to  find  you?  I  have  searched  long. 
Will  you  not  speak  one  true  word  from  your 

heart 
And  let  me  know  where  your  real,  lovely  self  is? 

Others  have  told  and  the  game  is  ended. 
There  is  no  searching  after  we  have  found. 


I4S 


THE  ROSE  ON  HER  HAT  TO  THE 
ROSE  ON  THE  BUSH 

Said  the  rose  on  her  hat 

To  the  rose  on  the  bush, 
"Good  morning,  and  how  is  the  sun? 
I  've  stayed  so  long  in  the  closet  dark 
That  I  did  n't  know  spring  had  begun. 
That 's  a  beautiful  butterfly  hovering  near  - 
They  never  will  come  to  me. 
I  wish  I  were  growing  just  like  you: 
How  wonderful  it  would  be ! 
I  never  can  feel  the  breath  of  spring 
Or  long  for  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
And  try  and  match  it  to  the  shade 
Of  the  blue  bird  fluttering  by. 
It  must  be  so  lovely  to  feel  the  dew 
On  the  velvet  of  your  leaves, 
And  whisper  back  to  the  murmur 
Of  the  spring  in  the  dreaming  trees!" 

Said  the  rose  on  the  bush 
To  the  rose  on  the  hat, 
"  I  am  tired  already  of  spring, 
146 


THE  ROSE  ON  HER  HAT 

And  the  butterfly  seems  so  far  away. 
Oh,  what  can  the  dewdrops  bring? 
For  I  must  fade  and  droop  in  the  sun 
Warm,  wilting  petals  of  pink." 

I  wonder  which  is  the  happier  rose? 
Tell  me,  which  do  you  think? 


THE  STRAY  LOCK 

It  was  a  lock  of  curly  hair : 

The  wind  kissed  it  and  thought  it  fair. 

Dancing  a  ringlet  dance  it  went 

With  the  playful  breeze  in  soft  content. 

It  laughed,  and  a  sunbeam  gliding  down 

Mingled  its  gold  with  the  lovely  brown; 

A  little  hand  gently  pushed  it  back, 

But  the  bad,  stray  lock  did  n't  mind  that. 

It  was  sick  of  staying  with  the  rest  — 

The  wind  and  the  sunshine  were  much  the 

best. 
Besides  there  was  such  a  dimply  smile, 
'T  was  fun  to  see  it  once  in  a  while. 
No,  I  don't  blame  that  lock  of  hair 
For  loving  the  sun  and  the  breezy  air. 

And  least  of  all  —  for  I  've  strayed,  too, 

To  see  that  dimpling  smile  —  Would  n't  you? 


I4» 


A  LETTER 

A  LOVE-DREAM  sheathed  in  paper-white 
Passion  the  lurid  leaping  light, 
And  it  burns  for  a  moment  red  and  clear, 
Then  vanishes,  taking  all  that  was  dear. 


149 


SCANDAL 

Who  started  the  snow-ball  of  rumor 

Rolling  down  life's  hill 

In  precipitous  flight 

That  loses  sight 

Of  the  summit  of  truth  until 

It  lies  besmeared  with  scandal? 

When  it  melts  and  leaves 

What  the  world  believes. 


1 
ISO  : 

! 


A  PILL 

A  GLASS  of  water 
Pure  as  the  sunshine  on  the  sea, 
Clear  as  the  air  that  sweeps  the  lea  — 
And  a  pill. 

A  small  white  pill,  — 
An  unpoetical  thing,  you  say; 
And  yet,  pray  c£ist  it  not  away. 
Think  on  it. 

This  pill  in  water  — 

Is  it  not  thus  that  our  thoughts  dissolve, 
In  the  billows  of  life  as  the  years  evolve 
And  are  lost? 

You'd  call  them  lost? 

But  they  flavor  the  substance  in  which 

they  melt 
And  grant  me  their  essence  still  is  felt, 
Like  the  melted  pill. 


151 


ALONE  WITH  FANCY 

Just  to  be  alone,  and  think  under  the  blue  sky; 
Just  to  be  alone,  and  see  day-dreams  floating  by; 
Sunlight  over    the  water,  mermaids    over  the 

sea, — 
Alone  with  sound  of  breezes  and  life's  wonderful 

mystery. 

Just  to  be  alone,  and  listen  to  the  lisping  of  the 
breeze, 

Trembling  kiss  near  to  the  branches  of  the  bud- 
promising  trees; 

Far  beyond  the  lacy  hilltops,  dreams  and  dream- 
trees  are  floating  by. 

And  my  thoughts  drift  out  to  meet  them,  as  they 
mingle  with  the  sky. 

Just  to  be  alone  and  silent,  midst  the  murmurs 
of  this  life; 

Just  to  be  alone,  forgetting  that  there  ever  must 
be  strife ; 

Till  the  shadows  of  the  evening  gently  quiver 
over  all, 

I  would  sit  and  dream  and  answer  to  a  far  un- 
known call. 

152 


A  FANCY 

Like  mist-clouds  drifting  o'er  the  lea 

Her  garments  fell  beside  the  sea, 

And  lay  in  white  foam  on  the  beach, 

Wind-blown  beyond  the  wavelets'  reach ; 

Far  in  the  shades  of  the  evening  sky 

Sea-gulls,  foam-born,  floated  by. 

Still  she  stood  like  a  swaying  flow'r, 

Silent  in  the  twilight  hour; 

A  Goddess  'gainst  the  murmuring  sea 

Wrought  so  pure  and  fragilely. 

The  quivering  waves  reached  out  to  touch 

The  limbs  they'd  borne  and  loved  so  much, 

And  a  beautiful  fluted  sea-shell  lay 

On  the  sand  like  rosebuds  cast  away. 


153 


THE  BIRTH  OF  VENUS 

A  SUNSET  shell  beside  the  sea, 
Soft  flushed  with  rose-breathed  mystery; 
A  rainbow  spray  that  lay  in  foam 
On  the  beach  of  her  Ionian  home. 

And  all  about  the  faintest  mist, 

Like  a  dream  of  hazy  amethyst; 

Far  o'er  the  sea  of  silent  light 

Breathed  rosebud  skies  to  greet  the  night. 

And  primrose  shadows  were  mingled  too, 
Fading  in  the  deep  sea-blue; 
A  sea-sprite  gathered  all  the  light 
And  laid  it  in  a  shell  this  night. 

Smiled  o'er  it  and  she  was  bom, 
Venus  of  light  and  love,  next  morn, 
With  rose-breathed  limbs  and  hair  of  gold. 
Eyes  of  sea-blue  and  depths  untold. 

They  found  the  pink  shell  on  the  strand, 
Clasped  in  the  glistening  silver  sand. 
And  a  rainbow  spray  that  fell  in  foam. 
On  the  beach  of  her  Ionian  home. 
154 


A  FANCY 

T  WAS  morn ! 

I  looked  and  saw  a  face  bending  over  mine ; 

I  heard  a  voice  —  the  voice  that  lilies  have  lost; 

I  raised  my  lips  to  meet  thy  fragrant  lips, 

And  then  a  mist  fell  over  me  and  my  world. 

'T  was  noon ! 

I  thought  warm  waves  of  sunlight  fell  on  me, 
But  when  I  looked  it  was  thy  wonderful  hair; 
Oh,  it  was  like  the  ripples  of  eternity; 
And  then  a  mist  fell  over  me  and  my  world, 

*T  was  eve! 

Something  in  the  murmur  of  the  far,  far  sea, 
Something  unuttered  wafted  to  my  ears; 
I  looked  into  the  heaven  of  thy  eyes,  to  see 
No  mist,  but  thou  in  living,  trembling  glory. 

'T  was  night! 

And  a  deep  dreamy  peace  was  in  my  heart. 
With  the  voice  of  the  velvet-footed  star-beams 
You  called  me,  and  my  soul  leaped  apart; 
It  took  you,  not  I,  and  held  you  in  throbbing  love. 
155 


GARDENS  AND   FLOWERS 


HER  GARDEN  — MY  GARDEN 

With  the  perfumed  breath  of  each  flower 

Mingling  in  the  breeze; 

With  a  jasmine  mist  over  the  waters 

And  a  whisper  of  far-away  trees; 

The  primrose  sky  faint  smiling, 

Touching  the  lips  of  night  — 

Her  garden  —  my  garden,  I  love  you 

In  the  mist  of  waning  light. 

In  the  paleness  of  moon-lit  shadows 

Swaying  to  and  fro, 

Where  the  heliotrope  breathes  to  the  silence 

And  slender  hollyhocks  grow; 

Where  the  fairies  dream-winged 

Are  rising  out  of  the  dewy  grass  — 

Her  garden,  my  garden,  I  love  you 

In  the  soft  star-gleams  that  pass. 

Fresh  morning  with  floods  of  sunshine 
Pouring  over  the  hill ; 
Diamond  dew  on  the  flowers, 
And  petals  that  tremble  and  thrill ; 
159 


HER  GARDEN  — MY  GARDEN 

Pink  to  the  morning  sunrise 
The  moon-kissed  hollyhocks  sway  — 
Her  garden,  my  garden,  I  love  you 
'Neath  the  fleecy  clouds  of  day. 


LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 

Lily  of  the  valley,  with  your  pretty  bells, 

Can  you  keep  a  secret  that  the  spring  breeze 

tells. 
Of  the  golden  sunshine  and  the  rainbow  dew, 
Of  the  flower  fragrance  wafting  forth  anew? 

Lily  of  the  valley,  with  your  bells  so  white, 
Can  you  keep  a  secret  of  the  summer  night, 
Of  the  glorious  sunshine,  of  the  fragrant  flowers 
Breathing  into  silence  of  the  silver  hours? 

Lily  of  the  valley,  from  every  opening  bell 
Wafts  a  springtime  secret  you  thought  not  to 

tell; 
All  the  fragrance  of  the  breeze,  the  mystery  of 

each  star. 
The  beauty  of  a  summer  night  breathes  forth 

near  and  far. 


i6i 


THE  LOTUS 

Lily  of  mystery  and  charm, 
Lily  of  ecstasy  and  harm, 
Lily  of  sleep  and  long  forgetting, 
Consciousness  is  but  a  fretting. 

Beautiful  lily  of  visions  and  dreams, 
Thy  petals  are  faded  and  all  life  seems 
But  a  lingering  tear  in  a  soul  of  delight,  • 
Beautiful  lotus  of  lavender  light. 


163 


CANTERBURY  BELLS 

Pink  bells,  purple  bells,  bells  of  purest  white; 
Ring  them,  dainty  fairies,  all  the  mystic  night; 
Chiming  on  the  waters  to  the  silver  moon, 
Chiming,  chiming,  chiming,  all   the   night's  in 
tune. 

Pink  bells,  purple  bells,  bells  of  purest  white; 
Ring  them,  pretty  fairies,  till  the  dawn  is  bright; 
Till  the  echoes  flying  far  beyond  the  hills 
Wake  the  drooping  lilieS  and  the  daffodils. 

Pink  bells,  purple  bells,  bells  of  purest  white; 
Ring  them,  little  fairies,  in  the  gold  sunlight; 
Till  the  daisies  answer  and  the  heart  shall  hear 
Fairy  bells  a-ringing,  chiming  sweet  and  clear. 

Pink  bells,  purple  bells,  bells  of  purest  white; 
Ring  them,  airy  fairies,  when  eve  dims  the  sight; 
Chime  them  to  the  sunset  and  the  rising  moon ; 
Sweet  the  air  with  bells  a-chiming  in  the  fairy 
tune. 


163 


WHITE  LILY 

White  lily  atilt  on  the  waters, 
Smiling  gold  to  the  sky, 
Dreaming  of  clouds  and  soaring  birds 
And  breezes  wafting  by. 

White  lily  afloat  on  the  waters, 
Sweet  as  the  joy  of  a  dream, 
Watching  the  mystic  moonbeams 
Shimmer  and  glint  and  gleam. 

Lily  afloat  on  the  waters, 

Folding  thy  petals  of  white, 

Life  of  thy  life  enfolding. 

Thou  art  lost  in  the  love  of  the  night. 

Lily  afloat  on  the  waters, 
Lovely  thy  petals  of  white ; 
Faint  are  the  golden  heart-throbs; 
Thou  art  lost  in  the  love  of  the  night. 


164 


A  GARDEN 

The  golden  sunbeams  linger 

On  the  dew  of  the  velvet  grass, 

And  the  long,  long  shadows  of  evening 

Silently,  softly  pass. 

The  heart,  too,  is  wont  to  linger 

Like  the  sunbeams  here,  you  know; 

For  't  is  such  a  lovely  garden 

And  the  flowers  are  fair  that  grow, 

And  the  long,  long  shadows  of  sorrow 

Melt  in  the  moon's  soft  light. 

In  this  dream-garden  made  of  beauty 

And  love  and  spirit-light. 


i(^ 


HELIOTROPE 

Lacy  flowers  like  the  mist 
Of  evening  distant  amethyst, 
Breathing  perfume  to  the  skies; 
Charming,  passing  butterflies. 
Yellow  wings  that  fluttered  far 
To  rest  on  perfumed  lavender; 
Emerald  flashes  dart  and  float 
Humming-birds  with  ruby  throat, 
Jewels  flashing  one  by  one, 
Diamond  dewdrops  in  the  sun  — 
Lovely,  fragrant  heliotrope, 
Emblem  of  undying  hope. 
By  the  moonbeams  softly  kissed 
Dreaming  dreams  of  amethyst. 


I66 


WHERE  LILIES  GROW 

Black  as  the  shadows  of  the  night, 
Black  with  a  streak  of  bloody  light, 
Across  the  smouldering  evening  sky 
The  flames  of  fire  have  serjjented  by. 

The  trees  are  naked  every  one. 
Like  a  gnarled  and  twisted  skeleton. 
Like  a  thought  of  consuming  pain  it  swept, 
Like  a  viper  it  hissed  and  hungrily  leapt. 

And  here  we  stand  on  a  wasted  plain, 
Bespeaking  horror,  blackness  and  pain. 
This  one  little  pool  escaped  the  fire. 
And  from  the  oozy  night-black  mire, 

One  lily  as  pure  as  the  upper  air, 
A  water-lily,  is  floating  there. 
White  petals  out  of  a  black  despair 
Gold  stamens  into  the  sullied  air. 

There  was  a  city  as  black  as  the  wood. 
Charred  with  despair  and  devoid  of  good; 
167 


WHERE  LILIES  GROW 

The  blinding  sheet  of  fire  and  pain 
Had  swept  it  and  left  it  blacker  again. 

Out  of  the  sin  and  mire  of  life, 

Out  from  the  killing  rancorous  strife, 

Another  lily  lifted  her  head 

Out  from  the  rabble  of  morally  dead. 

And  she  was  as  pure  as  the  lily  that  came 
Where  the  greedy  fire  had  leapt  in  flame. 
In  this  life  of  mystery  lilies  of  snow 
In  sin-black  mire  and  waste  may  grow. 


FORGOTTEN 

The  butterfly  promised  the  rosebud 
To  come  to  her  at  dawn ; 
He  forgot  and  the  rosebud  withered 
With  the  drooping  mists  of  the  morn. 

And  the  little  butterfly  fluttered 
Over  the  summer  fields, 
And  sipped  of  the  gorgeous  poppy 
And  the  nectar  that  clover  yields. 

At  eve  with  wings  a-tremble 
The  butterfly  came  again 
To  the  rose,  but  she  had  vanished ; 
How  many  have  known  her  pain ! 


169 


I  KNOW 

Dear  rose,  thou  wast  but  a  bud  last  night, 
Only  a  dream-tinged  promise  of  the  flow'r 
Before  me  now,  this  rainbow  sunlit  hour. 
Tell  me,  dear,  of  thy  most  rare  delight. 

Dear  girl,  but  yesterday  I  saw  thee  young  and 

fair; 
What  of  the  new  light  in  thy  maiden  eyes. 
Deep  as  the  mystery  of  summer  skies? 
Yesterday  only  a  mystic  promise  was  there. 

Dear  rose,  hath  love  come  unto  thee  as  well 
And  charmed  thy  delicate  petals  apart; 
Mirrored  all  life  in  the  deptljs  of  thy  heart? 
Dear  rose,  I  will  not  ask  that  thou  shouldst  tell. 
I  know. 


170 


A  VIOLET 

All  in  a  violet  — 
The  freshness  of  the  dewy  spring, 
The  echoes  of  the  birds  that  sing, 
The  fiutter  of  a  downy  wing,  — 
All  in  a  violet. 

All  in  a  violet  — 

The  rays  of  the  warm  and  golden  sun, 

The  pureness  of  a  day  begun, 

The  shadows  of  the  evening  done,  — 

All  in  a  violet. 

All  in  a  violet  — 

The  loving  thoughts  that  fill  the  air 
And  breathe  their  sweetness  everywhere 
To  make  the  dream  of  spring  more  fair,  — 
All  in  a  violet. 

All  in  a  violet  — 

The  tender  love  I  bear  for  thee; 

All  that  thy  life  means  to  me. 

With  a  faint,  far  dream  of  eternity,  — 

All  in  a  violet. 

171 


A   PATH 

There  was  a  woodland  path  —  you  know 

The  kind,  where  Indian  pipe-stems  grow 

Because  they  love  the  darkest  place, 

To  stand  in  ghostlike  fragile  grace. 

Silently  and  lonely  I  wandered  through 

The   deep,   black  wood  where  the    pine   trees 

grew; 
And  all  of  a  sudden  a  shaft  of  light 
Pierced  the  depths  and  shone  there  bright, 
Dazzling  in  its  beauty  rare; 
And  the  grass  was  green  and  flowers  were  fair. 


172 


THE  BROOK 

What  is  the  little  brook  saying, 
Chattering  all  the  day, 
To  the  leaves  and  grass  and  flowers 
That  bend  on  its  waters  at  play? 

I  think  it  sings  of  the  great  fields 
That  the  wood-flowers  never  see. 
And  the  warm  blue  sky  and  sunlight, 
The  brook  is  so  wild  and  free. 

It  sings  of  all  the  flowers 
That  make  the  air  so  sweet 
With  the  perfume  of  dainty  petals, 
When  the  wind  is  playing  fleet. 

And  it  sings  of  love  and  laughter 
And  yearning  longing,  too ; 
I  think  perhaps  it  guesses  then 
That  I  am  longing  for  you. 


173 


TANSY  AND  CHICORY 

A  SUNBEAM  fell  to  earth  and  shattered  lay 
Among  the  swaying  shadows  of  the  day. 
Then  evening  smiled,  a  magic  sunset  smile, 
And  night  of  mystic  dreams  came  the  while. 

Next  morning  in  a  field,  gold  tansy  grew. 
And  here  and  there  a  touch  of  heaven's  blue; 
You've  seen  such  spots  full  often,  so  you  know 
How  fair  it  is  to  see  a  sunbeam  grow. 


174 


CRIMSON  ROSES 

Crimson  roses  in  the  garden 
Breathing  to  the  pallid  moon ; 
Velvet  petals  soft  and  fragrant 
Warmed  by  sunbeams  gold  at  noon. 

She  so  loved  to  walk  among  you, 
Crimson  roses,  warm  and  sweet; 
And  you  held  the  silver  hours 
Of  her  life  that  slipped  so  fleet. 

Slipped  like  glimmering  mists  of  morning 

Out  into  the  great  unknown; 

Gently,  gently  palpitating, 

By  the  wind  of  death-sleep  blown. 

Crimson  roses  in  the  garden 
Filling  all  the  moon-beamed  night. 
Are  the  angels  singing  to  you 
Of  her  spirit  pure  and  bright? 


17$ 


SONGS  AND  SEASONS 


SONG. 

Oh,  the  music  of  the  sky 
When  the  stars  are  passing  by, 
And  the  angels  up  on  high 
Breathe  a  song  when  mortals  sigh. 

Oh,  the  beauty  of  the  night 
When  the  moon  its  splendor  bright 
Sheds  in  rainbow  shafts  of  light 
On  the  fairies  of  delight. 

Oh,  the  wonder  of  the  day 
When  the  last  star  melts  away, 
And  the  birds  with  voices  gay 
Sing  a  joyful  roundelay. 

Oh,  the  peace  of  evening  when 
The  daylight  breathes  amen, 
And  the  mist  o'er  vale  and  glen 
Charms  the  day  to  night  again. 

And  the  music  of  the  sky 
When  the  stars  are  passing  by, 
And  the  angel  songs  on  high 
Echo  soft  when  mortals  die., 
179 


YOU 

Her  robe  was  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
Her  hair  shone  with  silver  starlight, 
Her  eyes  were  filled  with  the  haze  of  a  dream 
That  spreads  its    strange   way   through   the 
night. 

Her  cheek  was  the  blush  of  dawn  skies 
When  the  morning  star  fades  from  view; 
Her  soul  was  the  spirit  that  fills  the  air, 
And  her  beautiful  self  was  you. 


x8o 


SONG 

Take  me  over  the  hills,  dear, 
Far,  far  away; 
Take  me  into  the  distance 
Beyond  the  light  of  day. 

Into  the  far,  soft  shadows 
Where  the  daffodil  star's  agleam; 
Where  we  can  love,  my  dearest, 
Love  and  live  and  dream. 

Take  me  into  your  life,  dear. 
As  the  night  enfolds  a  star; 
Take  me  into  your  arms,  love; 
The  world  is  pleasing  afar. 

Oh,  just  for  a  perfect  moment, 

Bury  my  pain  in  thy  kiss ; 

The  pulse  of  life  is  throbbing 

In  this  transcendent  moment  of  bliss. 


i8i 


A  SONG 

Out  of  the  mists  that  He  over  the  lake 

The  fireflies  glint  and  the  wood  nymphs 

awake; 
Out  of  the  primrose  evening  sky 
Fragrance  of  flowers  is  wafting  by; 
The  silence  is  bringing  a  dream  to  thee 
From  rainbow  dell  of  mystery. 
Far,  far  over  the  lofty  hills 
Sleep  the  wanderer  stops,  and  fills 
Her  iridescent  goblet  with  light 
And  strange  misty  fragrances  rise  through 

the  night. 
The  star  of  evening  far,  far  away 
Is  glimmering  of  what  the  angels  say. 


X82 


HER  HEART 

Pale  as  transparent  moonlight 
That  waxeth  gold  with  the  dawn, 
Fair  as  the  spring-fresh  morning 
When  roses  and  violets  are  bom. 

Her  heart,  as  an  evening  primrose 
When  the  shadows  of  pain  o'erspread, 
Opens  in  tender  beauty 
To  smile  at  the  night  overhead. 


las 


A  MYSTERY 

Strange  life  and  stranger  love ! 
Who  can  understand 
How  much  pain  and  joy  is  fate  - 
How  much  hath  God  planned. 

Strange  life  and  stranger  death ! 
And  then  —  the  still  to  be ; 
Fate  is  in  the  hand  of  God 
And  all  is  a  mystery. 


184 


SAILING 

I  WENT  for  a  beautiful  sail  last  night, 

All  through  the  star-lit  sky; 

And  the  swaying  glinting  moonbeams 

Silently  shimmered  by. 

The  clouds  were  soft  and  dreamy 

And  they  rocked  the  boat  to  and  fro, 

As  the  pine  boughs  rock  in  rhythm 

When  the  gentle  breezes  blow. 

And  I  sailed  through  the  golden  silence, 

Where  the  angels  float  in  mist, 

My  boat,  the  shell  of  a  lovely  dream, 

Floated  in  amethyst. 


x85 


SPRING  AND  FALL 


SPRING 

It  is  spring: 

There  is  a  beautiful  restless  sadness  in  the  air ; 

So  much  that  is  lovely, 

And  we  are  so  small  to  enjoy  all 

That  makes  the  soul  restless. 

Lovely  spring: 

It  has  taken  my  soul  away  somewhere  — 

To  a  cloud,  I  think,  — 

But  it  has  left  me  here 

With  the  exquisite  sense 

That  I  am  part  of  this  luxuriant  dreamy  spring. 

I  hear  a  voice  calling. 

Who  is  it  that  calls? 

It  sounds  as  the  evening  sounds 

When  it  calls  out  the  gold-tipped  stars. 

I  love  to  hear  it. 

Now  it  is  like  the  voice  of  the  red-lipped  poppy 

Calling  serenely  sweet  to  the  bees  in  the  fields. 


189 


SPRING 

Spring  is  so  deliciously  feminine! 

It  tells  secrets  as  maidens  do; 

It  has  the  faint  indecision  of  a  girl 

And  all  the  luxury  of  promise; 

And  the  stars  on  spring  nights 

Are  maiden-eyed. 

There  is  a  sweet  convincingness  about  the  spring, 

A  clinging  tenderness; 

And  the  nights  are  full  of  love. 

There  is  so  much  behind  the  moon  on  spring 

nights! 
The  angels  touch  a  tender  chord  in  spring; 
That  is  why  the  breeze  is  so  soft. 
It  would  be  a  sacrilege  to  be  boisterous 
In  the  dreamy  silent  silence  of  a  spring  night. 


SPRING  ECSTACY 

Oh,  wild  and  joyous  ecstasy, 

Tinged  with  the  joy  of  expectancy, 

How  perfect  and  complete ! 

I  think  the  world  is  made  of  light, 

With  purple  stains  of  rich  delight, 

Of  love  and  harmony. 

Soul,  thou  hast  reached  the  height  of  bliss; 

What  can  be  more  sublime  than  this ! 

My  heart  be  still. 

This  is  the  height  of  dewy  spring. 

When  the  trees  bloom  and  the  birds  sing 

In  merry  roundelays. 

The  heart  answers  in  throbs  of  delight 

To  a  voice  that  is  calling  out  of  sight, 

The  voice  of  exultant  spring. 


191 


SPRING  PROMISE 

She  was  so  like  a  dream  of  springtime, 

With  its  freshness  and  misty  shades; 

Her  eyes  were  like  the  lovely  moonbeams, 

With  a  wistful  shadow  that  fades. 

The  flowers  had  breathed  on  her  tresses 

And  the  sunlight  had  sought  them  there, 

And  loved  to  stay,  for  it  found  them 

Exquisitely  dainty  and  fair, 

Like  the  petal  mists  of  morning 

When  the  rose  sunrise  shimmers  through; 

A  mystery  hovered  about  her, 

A  promise  that  might  come  true. 

Dear  little  soul  of  the  springtime. 

In  whose  world  wilt  thou  fulfil 

The  beautiful  promise  of  love  and  life 

That  God  hath  granted  us  still. 


19a 


A  BIRD'S  CALL 

The  call  of  one  bird, 

And  over  the  hills  a  stirring, 

Is  heard,  as  though  the  spirit  of  spring 

Were  trying  each  misty  fluttering  wing. 

The  call  of  one  bird, 
And  out  of  the  ice-freed  silver  lake 
The  mists  of  morning  rise  and  shake 
Rainbow  dew  over  hill  and  brake. 

The  song  of  one  bird. 

And  in  the  far,  faint  echo  I  hear 

Thy  voice,  I  see  a  vision  appear 

Of  thee  in  thy  loveliness  drawing  near. 

The  song  of  one  bird ; 
The  breezes  are  answ'ring  o'er  the  sea  — 
Thou  and  the  spring  come  back  to  be, 
Each  a  part  of  life's  mystery. 

All  in  the  call  of  a  bird. 

193 


THE  SPRING  MOON 

The  crescent  moon  rose  over  the  lea 
Out  of  the  rippling  shadows  of  the  sky, 
Where  dreams  and  visions  floated  gull-like  by, 
And  lay  upon  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 

Beneath  the  waters  of  aqua  marine 

A  conch-shell  lay,  pink-tinted  and  curled 

Like  petals  of  the  rose  unfurled, 

Deep  in  the  wonder  of  the  ocean's  green. 

The  crescent  moon  sank  into  the  sea 
Deep  to  the  heart  of  the  curved  conch-shell ; 
The  primrose  petals  of  morning  fell, 
And  the  conch-shell  lay  on  the  lea. 

An  echo  of  waves  on  the  shore  of  sleep 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  a  shell  on  the  strand, 
And  a  glitter  of  gold  on  the  silver  sand, 
The  crescent  moon  that  sank  into  the  deep. 


194 


A  SPRING  SONG 

What  makes  the  spring  air  so  soft? 

Is  it  the  thoughts  of  love, 

Or  the  dreams  we  have  dreamed 

That  vanish  into  the  blue  sky  above? 

Is  it  the  whispering  flowers. 

Or  the  breath  of  the  silvery  moon, 

Or  is  all  the  spring  air  sweetness 

Just  that  the  heart  is  in  tune? 


195 


BLUE  SKY  OVERHEAD 

The  soul  in  me  is  not  yet  dead 
Because  the  blue  sky  overhead, 
The  springtime  sounds  that  fill  the  air, 
Thrill  me  still  and  seem  so  fair. 

To-day  I  saw  a  little  bird, 

And  his  sweet  caroling  overheard; 

My  heart  thrilled  like  an  evening  breeze 

And  trembled  like  the  white  birch  leaves. 

This  eve  the  air  is  springtime  cool. 
Sweet  as  the  freshest  summer  pool, 
And  all  the  world  is  full  of  spring, 
Full  of  dainty  imagining. 


196 


THE  BLUEBIRD'S  SONG 

Little  bluebird  of  the  spring, 
Tell  me,  in  the  song  you  sing 
Of  the  flowers  and  the  trees, 
To  the  rippling  of  the  breeze, 
To  the  skies  of  thy  own  hue  — 
Little  springtime  bird  of  blue. 

Yes,  I  sing  of  trees  and  flowers 
Through  the  lovely  summer  hours, 
To  the  breath  of  soft  blue  skies, 
To  the  water's  fall  and  rise. 
To  the  sunshine  and  the  dew, 
And,  little  girl,  I  sing  to  you. 


197 


FALL  FLAMES 

I  WATCHED  the  greedy  flames  of  fire 
Exultant,  leaping  high  and  higher, 
Wild  and  lawless,  ruddy,  bright, 
Full  of  lurid  passion  light. 

It  burned  an  hour  like  life  afire, 
Thrilling  and  rising  ever  higher; 
Then  the  glow  died  in  its  own  wild  flame  — 
Died  like  the  vanishing  dream  of  fame. 

An  ember  fire  smouldered  low, 
Tenderly  warm  like  breezes  that  blow. 
It  did  not  die  in  its  own  wild  light, 
But  glowed  with  warmth  through  the  long, 
fall  night. 


198 


FALL  SKY 

That  is  my  life, 

That  gray  sky  with  a  gash  of  red, 

The  one  bright  spot  of  a  hope  that  is  dead: 

You  've  seen  such  skies. 

And  you  've  loved  most  the  gash  of  light. 

So  do  I  love  all  my  life  that 's  bright  — 

I  love  it  best. 


199 


A  LEAF  — A  LOVE 

A  CHEERLESS  sky: 

The  wind  is  high, 

And  the  leaves  are  gone  from  the  tree. 

One  trembUng  trace 

Of  summer  grace 

Is  left  for  the  world  to  see. 

A  golden  leaf 

To  the  winds  of  grief, 

But  the  dream  of  summer  is  there. 

We  gaze  at  it. 

And  bit  by  bit 

Forget  the  winter  despair. 

Two  souls  that  part: 

A  broken  heart 

And  dead  hopes  drift  on  the  wind. 

Love  gently  clings 

When  life's  other  things 

Are  lost  to  the  grief-sick  mind. 

300 


A  LEAF  — A  LOVE 

In  love  we  see 

Life's  imagery, 

The  dream  of  the  purest  and  best. 

The  leaf  on  the  tree, 

The  love  that  shall  be, 

Endure  all  and  stand  the  test. 


CHANGE 

How  all  things  change!  Last  night  the  summer 

breeze 
Trembled  and  quivered  through  the  leafy  trees; 
This  morning  there  are  murmurs  far  away, 
Long,  lazy  shadows  like  the  ocean  sway 
Across  the  sunlit  grass.   I  cannot  understand: 
The  selfsame  scene  I  saw  last  night,  the  strand 
That  smiled  unto  the  summer  sun; 
But,  oh,  how  changed !  The  honied  fall  has  come; 
The  air  is  clear  as  fairy  bells  and  thrills 
The  throbbing  heart,  but,  oh,  deep  down  fills 
It  with  drowsy,  aching  pain ; 
The  fall  of  waning  life  hath  come  again. 


302 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  FALL 

Pale  yellow  leaves  of  autumn 
Like  warm  shadows  of  the  sun ; 
Petals  gently  falling 
From  the  flowers  one  by  one. 

Long,  long  evening  shadows 
Steal  across  the  lea; 
Flaming  sunsets  flash  their  color 
On  the  stormy  wind-tossed  sea. 

Honey  in  the  scented  air, 
And  katydids  that  call 
Shrilly  in  the  quiet  night, 
And  we  dream  the  dream  of  fall. 


203 


AUTUMN   CONTRADICTIONS 

Quiet,  golden  autumn  days 
When  the  heart  is  in  a  maze; 
Exultant  'neath  the  mellow  sun, 
Regretful  of  the  summer  done. 

Quiet,  lustrous  autumn  nights 
Ablaze  with  heaven's  fiery  lights: 
The  splendor  of  the  harvest  moon 
Creates  a  ghostlike,  earthy  noon. 

Quiet,  weeping  autumn  hours; 
A  day  of  contradicting  powers; 
Flaming  leaves  that  soon  pass  by; 
A  love  within  a  heart  to  die. 


S04 


RELIGIOSA 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

In  the  long,  long,  silent  hours, 
In  the  velvet  folds  of  night. 
Hours  that  cry  out  to  the  darkness 
And  faint  within  the  pale  starlight : 
When  the  sad  heart  aches  and  trembles, 
Crushed  beneath  the  palm  of  pain, 
Soft  a  voice  comes  from  the  silence, 
'Bear  thy  cross;  't  is  not  in  vain." 

In  the  long,  long,  silent  hours, 
Wild  with  soul-consuming  grief, 
Throbs  the  heart  in  bitter  yearning, 
Groping,  longing  for  relief. 
Soul,  be  patient;  in  the  darkness 
Thou  canst  neither  see  nor  hear, 
But  a  hand  is  reaching  tow'rd  thee  — 
Christ,  the  sufferer,  bending  near. 


ao7 


RESIGNATION 

She  is  at  rest  — 

That  thought  doth  fill  the  heart 

And  quell  the  bitter  tears  that  fain  would  start; 

She  is  at  rest  with  God. 

She  is  at  rest  — 

And  for  her  sake  we  bear  the  aching  pain 
Until  our  hands  perchance  shall  meet  again, 
In  God's  great  peace. 

She  is  at  rest  — 

Peace,  peace,  my  soul,  her  spirit  is  too  near, 
That  this  unthinking  grief  should  form  a  tear: 
Hers  is  the  perfect  peace. 


308 


GOD  KNOWS 

There  are  times  when  the  heart  is  o'erflowing 
With  the  bitter  elixir  of  pain, 
When  the  clouds  hang  low  in  heaven 
And  the  mist  is  changed  into  rain. 

There  are  times  when  the  tears  from  the  heart's 

depths 
Well  up  in  the  longing  eyes, 
Bleed  through  white  lids  that  tremble. 
And  the  butterfly  hope-dream  dies. 

God  knows  these  hours  of  our  suffering, 
And  His  angels  bend  yet  more  near: 
I  think  sometimes  that  heaven  itself 
Is  reflected  in  a  pure  tear. 


209 


MELROSE  ABBEY 

Here  in  the  time-dimmed  ages  of  the  past, 

Hearing  sweet  chimes  upon  the  morning  air, 

Shepherds  and  good  town  folk  might  repair 

To  kneel  in  unmolested  peace,  and  cast 

The  burden  of  their  sins  away  at  last 

In  the  deep,  voiceless  sea  of  faithful  prayer. 

The  spirit  of  those  souls  must  still  be  there. 

We  enter.  The  great  window,  stained  and  glassed 

So  long  ago,  now  frames  the  green  fields,  and  hills 

Beyond.  The  chimes'  reiteration  fills 

The  air,  the  dainty  bluebells  rung 

By  fairy  hands,  while  distant  hymns  are  sung 

By  angel  choirs  bending  o'er  us  here. 

What  wonder  that  we  hold  this  spot  so  dear! 


210 


WHERE  NOW  STANDS  TRINITY 

When  the  golden  moon  is  high, 
Gliding  through  the  silver  sky; 
When  the  night  is  cool  and  damp 
As  with  vapors  from  a  swamp, 
Where  the  mists  are  slowly  falling, 
Where  the  whippoorwill  is  calling, 
And  the  swamp  grass,  fresh  and  cool, 
Grows  within  the  black  mud  pool; 
Here  before  me  I  can  see 
A  church,  men  call  it  Trinity; 
It  is  but  a  shadow  now 
Hid  among  the  leafy  boughs; 
Birch  trees  bending  in  the  breeze 
With  their  palpitating  leaves, 
Flowers  breathing  in  the  air 
Perfumed  jasmine-sweet  and  fair. 
From  the  white  mists  o'er  the  lake 
Glinting  fireflies  awake, 
Starring  all  the  mist  swamp  dell 
Till  the  Indians  of  the  fell 
Wakened  by  their  shimmering  light 
Come  and  dance  all  through  the  night. 

211 


WHERE  NOW  STANDS  TRINITY 

Here  a  path  leads  to  a  pond 
And  a  bright  light  shines  beyond,  — 
Mystic,  glittering  path  where  play 
Water-nymphs  with  the  waves  that  sway 
Where  the  water-lilies  float, 
Like  a  dream-shell  fairy  boat. 
Through  the  water  slowly  wading, 
From  the  faint  mists  gently  fading, 
Comes  the  deer  with  timid  eyes 
Out  of  the  forest's  mysteries, 
Stands  a  moment  in  the  shadows 
Scenting  the  far-distant  meadows. 
With  the  dew-damp  wilting  flowers. 
Sleeping  through  the  silent  hours. 
Soft  the  dream  is  fading,  fading, 
And  the  fallow  deer  is  wading 
To  a  faint,  far-distant  shore 
And  I  see  her  now  no  more. 
Here,  where  long  ago  she  fed. 
On  her  mossy  flower-strewn  bed. 
Where  the  crickets  all  a-singing 
Chirped  —  ah,  list!  a  bell  is  ringing, 
And  the  Christian  church  is  here 
Where  was  once  the  haunts  of  deer,  , 


313 


WHERE  NOW  STANDS  TRINITY 

And  the  moon  that  saw  the  dell 

Hears  the  ringing  of  the  bell  — 

Knows  what  years  have  brought  from  out 

Love  and  heresy  and  doubt: 

It  is  strange  how  oft  I  see 

No  church,  but  a  dell  of  mystery. 


THE  GOLDEN  CROSS 

Lost  in  the  vast  cathedral  of  the  night 

My  spirit  wanders  on  dream-wings  of  prayer. 

And  revels  in  the  sacred  wonders  there ; 

The  purple  pillars  and  the  shrine  starlight 

That  trembles  with  angelic  breath,  then  bright 

As  palpitating  moonbeams,  but  more  fair, 

Burns  to  consecrate  the  holy  air. 

Reality  is  far  beyond  the  sight, 

A  dizzy  sphere  where  worry,  pain,  and  loss 

Are  held  by  faith  in  a  golden  cross. 

And  God  is  on  His  throne  in  the  skies, 

Smiling  on  joy  and  on  life's  tragedies, 

Gazing,  yet  not  sorrowing.   He  knows 

That  bearing  pain  and  suffering,  the  soul  grows. 


214 


SOLACE 

I  THOUGHT  an  angel  came  to  me  last  night 
And  stood  before  me  in  the  misty- vision  light; 
Her  voice  was  soft  as  moonshine  on  the  sea 
And  all  its  splendor  melted  over  me. 

Thine  was  the  voice,  my  dearest,  from  the  night, 
Thine  was  the  vision  and  the  perfect  light ; 
My  Mother,  thou  art  ever  near  to  me 
Since  God  hath  set  thy  perfect  spirit  free. 


215 


SHADOWS  OF  GOLD 

How  long  the  shadows  Hnger  on  the  grass, 
Waiting,  perhaps,  for  her  they  loved  to  pass. 
Soft  shadows,  I  have  waited,  too,  in  vain 
To  see  her  —  oh,  to  see  her  once  again. 

Gold,  sunlit  shadows,  now  you  move  and  sway, 
I  see  a  vision,  too,  beyond  the  day; 
Far  in  the  shades  of  evening's  rose-soft  light; 
Shadows  of  gold,  she  is  with  us  to-night. 


3l6 


SONNET 

Still  there?  Or  is  it  but  a  dream  of  two 
Who  long  ago  kneeled  in  reverent  prayer 
Here  by  the  arm  of  this  fireside  chair 
While  night  of  star-eyes  and  mystery  drew 
Near  and  laid  her  hand  gently  as  angels  do 
Upon  them?  What  of  a  world  of  dim  despair! 
Only  the  tender  spirit  of  prayer  was  there ; 
O  God,  how  swift  those  blessed  moments  flew! 
The  hands  of  night  must  now  spread  far  to  reach 
The  aching  spirits  and  to  comfort  each ; 
And  yet  before  the  dear  old  chair  it  seems 
They  two  in  prayer,  hand  clasped  in  hand, 
Still  linger.  Life  is  hard  to  understand  — 
Reality  resolves  itself  in  dreams. 


217 


IN  MEMORIAM 

Now  is  the  cycle  of  a  year  complete, 
With  all  the  changing  light  and  shade  of  chance, 
And  all  the  balancing  of  circumstance. 
Ah,  me,  the  white-winged  days  are  fleet! 


218 


AN  ANGEL 

Silent  I  sit  here  in  the  dead  of  night: 
Far  off  the  wondrous  mystery  of  starlight 
Repeats  itself  in  sparks  of  trembling  gold, 
A  baby  Iamb  bleats  in  the  distant  fold ; 
All  else  is  still,  and  perfect  peace  prevails 
Beneath  the  pow'r  of  the  Love  that  never  fails. 
Sacred  and  holy  is  the  very  air  we  breathe 
Gently  do  the  unexpressM  thoughts  wreathe 
Themselves  around  a  fresh  and  quivering  wound. 

A  voice  from  out  the  silence,  sweet  and  low, 
Mingling  with  the  gentle  winds  that  blow 
A  face;  move  not,  my  heart,  it  is  her  own  — 
The  same  dear  blessM  face  that  thou  hast  known 
And  loved  so  long.  To-morrow  thou  wilt  say, 
"  I  saw  an  angel  in  the  night  that  flew  away." 


219 


CRUCIFIXION 

We  stand  once  more  before  His  cross  to-day, 

Thou  and  I,  living  those  three  long  hours  again, 

The  hours  of  suffering  and  untold  pain. 

The  shadows  of  the  evening  steal  away 

And  leave  a  twilight  of  repose,  to  stay 

The  throbbing  thought.    He  died  for  us,  what 

gain, 
O  thou,  dear  one,  was  it  all  —  all  in  vain? 
We  do  confess  Him,  we  have  learned  to  pray. 
And  yet  our  hearts  can  see  Him  suffer  still. 
Cleave  to  our  own  desires,  forget  His  will. 
Add  one  more  thorn  to  that  death-plaited  crown. 
And  watch  the  life-blood  flowing  slowly  down. 
Oh,  could  we  but  resist  such  sin  that  He 
Might  be  rejoiced  that  moment  in  some  slight 

degree. 


330 


A  PRAYER 

God  keep  thee,  dear, 
Through  all  the  wondrous  starlit  night ; 
Through  all  its  mystery  of  light, 
God  keep  thee,  dearest  one. 

God  guard  thee,  dear, 
While  all  the  light  and  shade  of  chance 
Sways  o'er  the  field  of  circumstance; 
God  guard  thee,  dearest  one. 

God  bless  thee,  dear,  thy  life  and  mine, 
And  sanctify  our  sacred  love. 
Make  it  more  pure  and  more  divine; 
God  bless  thee,  dearest  one. 


221 


PORTRAYALS 


A  PORTRAIT 

She  is  lovely,  see  her  dainty  head 
Profiled  against  the  sunset  golden-red. 
There  is  a  classic  beauty  in  her  face, 
Madonna-like,  exquisite  in  its  grace. 
Titian  dreamed  the  lily  of  her  arms 
And  rounded  neck  of  maiden  charms ; 
A  mist-gold  sun  of  long  ago 
Is  all  around  her  —  Oh,  you  know 
The  way  Correggio  might  have  seen 
Her  ringlet  hair  with  its  golden  sheen ; 
And  she  is  here,  an  echo  of  that  art, 
Perfect  and  lovely  with  a  woman's  heart. 


225 


A  GIRL 

Do  you  hear  a  laugh 
And  then  look  to  see 
Who  the  merry  soul  may  be? 

She  laughed  and  I  looked  about  at  her 
And  met  two  shining  eyes; 
She  was  not  lovely  or  even  clean  — 
Tell  me,  is  that  a  surprise? 

Did  you  think  she  was  really  going  to  be 
A  beautiful  girl  with  golden  hair, 
And  warm,  pink  cheeks  that  softly  blushed 
And  red  lips  alluringly  fair? 

She  was  n't,  and  if  you  like  only  that  kind 
Don't  read  any  more  or  you  will  be 
Utterly  disgusted.    She  was  sitting  on  the 

common  bench  — 
You  know  the  kind,  where  you  see 


326 


A  GIRL 

Every  creature  that  God  ever  planned, 
And  when  the  warm  springtime  comes 
Lovers  sit  and  coo  like  doves 
Sandwiched  between  the  worst  town  bums. 

She  had  a  lover  —  and  called  him  her  beau  - 

And  she  sat  there  like  the  rest 

Chewing  gum  and  pulling  it  out, 

And,  mildly  to  say,  she  was  gaudily  dressed. 

With  white  shoes  —  once  clean,  perhaps. 
But  they  certainly  were  n't  that  day  — 
And  a  skirt  that  rivaled  the  poppy, 
Because  it  was  so  gay. 

And  a  hat  with  a  frail  pink  feather; 
If  it  saw  the  skirt,  it  looked  white 
And  it  dropped  with  very  shame,  because 
It  simply  could  not  look  bright. 

Her  laugh  was  just  like  the  dress  she  wore, 
Loud  and  gay  and  bright; 
And  her  brown  eyes  twinkled  merrily 
With  a  mischievous,  pretty  light. 


227 


A  GIRL 

And  her  fingers,  with  rings  that  children  find 
In  prize  candy  boxes,  you  know, 
Fiddled  with  strings  and  stretched  her  gum 
As  far  out  as  it  would  go, 

And  she  held  the  other  end  in  her  teeth : 
She  may  have  been  ugly, 
But  she  had  the  whitest  teeth  in  the  world 
And  they  glistened  like  pearls  from  the  sea. 

Her  hair  was  straight  as  the  string  of  her  gum 

And  it  blew  all  over  her  face; 

I  think  she  had  some  gypsy  blood 

Or  belonged  to  the  Indian  race. 

I  've  seen  many  girls  and  I  've  loved  a  few. 
The  pretty  ones  pink  and  white, 
But  I  envy  the  lad  that  sat  on  the  bench 
With  the  little  gum  girl  that  night. 

She  was  n't  clean  —  her  hands  were  grimed  — 
And  she  was  n't  pretty  at  all. 
You  might  n't  like  her,  but  I  did, 
And  what  are  mere  looks  after  all? 


THE  TEAMSTER 

The  heavy  team  rumbles  along 
And  the  teamster  is  singing  a  song, 
Singing  in  mindless  delight; 
And  his  song  when  he 's  out  of  sight 
Echoes  upon  the  air, 
Echoes  in  vague  despair. 

He  has  come  to  the  end  of  the  day  — 

One  more  —  spent  the  selfsame  way 

As  the  one  before,  with  the  rattle  of  stones 

As  he  jars  along  —  it  would  break  your  bones 

To  ride  there  with  him 

And  to  hear  the  loud  din. 

It  is  just  five  minutes  to  five  — 

It  will  take  him  an  hour  to  drive 

With  the  heavy  horses  that  walk  so  slow 

Back  to  his  home,  and  the  white  snow 

Is  just  starting  to  fall. 

He  stands  and  he 's  very  tall 


229 


THE  TEAMSTER 

Against  the  blue  boards  of  the  cart. 

He  wraps  the  horse  blankets  about  him  smart 

And  the  horses  are  still  shuffling  on, 

A  motor  car  passes  and  is  gone 

In  a  flash  —  lost  in  its  dust 

They  would  not  take  it  —  but  the  teamster  must. 

The  snowflakes  are  melting  in  his  face; 

The  water  trickles  down  to  trace 

The  deep  wrinkles  about  his  chin; 

His  pipe  smoke  rises  in  a  thin 

Blue  thread  of  smoke, 

Acid  enough  to  make  you  choke. 

He  is  almost  home  now;  in  his  eyes 

If  you  thought  to  watch  them  the  tragedies 

Of  life  would  vanish,  giving  place 

To  gentler  lines  in  the  rugged  face. 

The  black  door  space  has  taken  him  in 

To  his  home,  away  from  the  rattle  and  din. 


THE  MINER 

He  blinks  at  the  clear  sunlight 
With  eyes  that  have  seen  black  so  long, 
With  eyes  that  no  longer  are  strong 
To  greet  the  radiant  day. 

He  has  come  out  of  the  earth 
Where  it  is  blacker  than  night, 
Where  only  a  blinking  lamplight 
Flickers  a  gruesome  smile. 

The  coal  dust  is  as  his  face 

Streaked  white  from  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 

And  his  weak  eyes  see  better  now 

In  the  brilliant  sunlight. 

His  muscles  are  strong  as  iron 
And  his  hand  is  calloused  and  scarred ; 
Cramped  from  gripping  the  shovel  so  hard 
Into  a  crumpled  claw. 


231 


THE  MINER 

We  cannot  look  at  his  heart 
Under  the  ragged  suit  of  clothes ; 
Under  that  heaving  breast  —  who  knows 
What  his  thoughts  may  be. 

Forged  from  the  heart  of  the  earth 
Where  onlv  a  few  men  can  stay, 
Those  thoughts  are  different,  they  say. 
From  the  thoughts  of  other  men. 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

The  tent  was  close  and  smelly  and  hot ; 

The  polar  bears  had  the  coolest  spot, 

But  even  their  long,  red  tongues  hung  out 

As  they  wagged  their  heads  and  swayed  about. 

The  zebras  dozed  in  the  sultry  air 

And  thought  of  the  grass  in  Africa; 

The  baby  giraffe  was  munching  hay 

And  his  mother  was  dreaming  of  the  day 

When  she  was  caught  in  the  noose  of  rope 

And  dragged  down  the  wooded  jungle  slope. 

The  elephants  stood  over  by  the  door 

And  their  swaying  trunks  swept  on  the  floor: 

There  were  two  more  this  year  than  there  'd  been 

last  — 
Two  more  to  dream  of  a  jungle  past. 
The  children  laughed  in  wild  delight: 
It  reminded  the  elephants  of  hyenas  at  night. 
"Skinny,"  —  one  elephant  turned  his  head,  — 
"  Look  at  that  little  tot  dressed  in  red, 
The  one  with  the  flower  on  her  hat, 
Do  you  remember  the  girl  who  looked  like  that? 
233 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

The  same  sort  of  sad  gazing  in  her  eye, 
She  alius  looked  like  she  was  goin'  to  cry. 
Do  you  remember  her,  Skinny,  old  man?" 
Skinny  swayed  his  trunk,  like  elephants  can 
And  blew  through  his  nose  —  "Don't  believe  I 

do." 
He  said,  "Tell  me  about  her,  could  n't  you?" 
"Well,  'twas  when  you  first  came  to  join  the 

show; 
I 'd  come  to  it  —  oh,  let's  see  —  years  ago, 
But  I  've  never  forgot  that  girl  or  the  clown 
Who  alius  used  to  take  her  aroun'. 
The  clown  was  the  tall  one  they  called   'Old 

Skate,' 
And  he  slid  on  my  back  and  held  my  slate. 
When  I  added  two  and  two,  which  made  four, 
It  delighted  the  crowd  —  they  used  to  roar 
With  laughter  and  fun ;  then  the  girl's  act  came. 
She  was  a  trapeze  girl,  and  one  night  she  got 

lame; 
She  'd  been  practicing  almost  all  the  day 
And  Old  Skate  was  there,  he  hung  round  that 

way 
Wherever  she  was  —  well,  this  day  she  fell  — 
She  could  n't  get  her  balance  well, 
334 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

And  she  hurt  her  foot ;  Old  Skate  watched  it  all. 

He  turned  sort  o'  white  when  he  saw  her  fall 

And  went  to  her  and  took  off  her  shoe. 

It  was  dirty  and  worn,  and  she  had  her  blue 

Dress  with  the  short  skirt  that  day. 

Old  Skate  lifted  her  up  and  took  her  away, 

He  in  his  old  white  clown  suit  and  she 

All  in  blue,  like  a  little  fairy. 

She  could  n't  walk,  and  that  night  I  heard 

That  they  'd  bounced  her.    Skate  did  n't  say  a 

word 
To  any  of  the  folks  exceptin'  me; 
'Con,'  he  sez,  *  it's  this  way;  you  see 
They  won't  have  the  little  girl  no  more 
And  she 's  gone  away  —  she  went  before 
I  could  even  tell  her  I  'd  like  to  go 
And  sort  o'  take  care  o'  her,  yer  know. 
I  give  her  the  money  to  get  away, 
But  I  reckon  I  '11  go  too  —  I  can't  stay 
Now  that  she's  left;  there'll  be  another  clown 
To  slide  on  yer  back  and  bounce  aroun'. 
I  'm  goin'  to-night,  Con,  and  I  '11  find  her  too 
She  can't  hardly  walk,  —  whatever  '11  she  do?* 
He  sat  there  thinking  far  into  the  night 
But  he  warn't  there  with  the  morning's  light. 
235 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

I  thought  of  him  for  many  a  day. 

Skinny,  I  guess  that's  the  elephants'  way. 

They  don't  forget  when  they  like  a  man. 

Well,  in  three  or  four  months  the  moving  began ; 

Then  the  bustle  of  pitching  the  tents  and  all: 

The  circus  life 's  like  the  waterfall 

That  rushed  and  roared  in  the  jungle  where 

I  come  from  —  only  't  was  more  peaceful  there. 

Well,  first  thing  I  heard  when  we  got  to  town 

From  one  of  the  horses  that  goes  aroun' 

And  prances  and  dances  through  the  street 

To  tell  folks,  'This  show  can't  be  beat.' 

'T  was  Old  Bally  told  me,  the  best  he  could 

Knowing  well  as  how  it  would 

Break  my  heart  to  hear  he  was  dead. 

It  warn't  no  use  their  going  off,  he  said; 

At  first  they  were  happy  as  could  be  — 

They  lived  together  awhile  and  he 

Cared  for  her  and  gave  her  some  things 

That  belonged  to  his  mother  —  some  clothes  and 

rings; 
Valuable  'nuff,  I  guess,  for  she  went 
An'  pawned  one  or  two;  but  afore  she  spent 
The  money,  he  had  her  caught 
An'  all  crying  and  sobbing  they  brought 
236 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

Her  to  the  judge's  place  and  they  made  her  go 
To  some  sort  o'  prison  —  not  a  real  one,  you 

know, 
But  Old  Skate  was  nearly  crazy.  He  cried 
An'  raved  about ;  said  he  wished  he  'd  died 
Afore  this.  A  yeller  cur  heard  him  say 
He  was  goin'  to  get  the  girl  away. 
He  went  to  the  prison-like  where  she  stayed 
And  tried  to  tell  them  that  he  'd  made 
A  mistake  and  to  let  her  go, 
But  that's  not  the  way  with  the  law,  you  know. 
So  then  Old  Skate  he  broke  his  heart ; 
His  face  was  all  white  and  his  lips  hung  apart. 
He  went  next  day  to  the  prison  again. 
They  would  n't  let  him  see  her;  so  when 
He  could  n't  get  in,  he  sent  a  word 
To  ask  her  to  marry  him.  Then  he  heard 
As  how  she  'd  said  she  never  would ; 
So  Old  Skate  he  went  away  for  good. 
The  yeller  cur  followed  him  all  around ; 
He  said  he  was  in  some  dream  and  the  sound 
Of  his  sobbin'  wuz  pitiful  to  hear. 
Well,  he  went  home  with  all  that  wuz  dear 
To  him  in  the  world,  gone.  The  yeller  cur 
Listened  awhile  and  he  thought  of  her 
237 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIRCUS 

In  the  prison  —  Old  Skate  thought  too; 
Just  to  sit  and  think,  't  was  all  he  could  do. 
The  next  mornin'  some  folks  came  in  and  found 
Old  Skate  lying  stiff  and  cold  on  the  ground. 
He  'd  shot  himself  —  Skinny,  us  folks  of  the  zoo 
Have  a  queerer  life  than  most  folks  do. 
There's  the  little  tot  again  in  the  red 
With  the  sad-lookin'  eyes  —  Skinny,  look  ahead. 
Is  n't  that  her  mother  standin'  near? 
She's  the  trapeze  girl,  do  you  hear?" 

The  little  one  stretched  out  her  hand  to  say, 
Welcome — the  mother  turned  and  led  her  away. 
And  the  two  great  creatures  swayed  to  and  fro, 
Reaching  out  their  trunks  as  far  as  they'd  go. 


REMINISCENCE 

It  was  a  musty  old  closet, 
Filled  with  boxes  and  things, 
With  funny  old  bangles  for  dresses 
And  feathers  for  hat  trimmings. 
It  is  funny  how  they  remind  us 
Of  the  clothes  we  used  to  wear; 
We  lived  in  them  and  now  they  tell  us 
The  thoughts  that  have  lingered  there. 
They  remind  us  of  what  we  were  thinking 
And  whom  we  were  loving  then. 
When  we  left  them  there  in  the  closet. 
If  we  should  wear  them  again, 
They  never  would  seem  so  pretty 
'  As  we  used  to  think  they  were, 
And  our  thoughts  would  be  foreign  to  them 
Because  we  were  so  much  older. 
The  dust  was  gray  on  the  boxes. 
And  there  was  a  musty  smell. 
But  you  must  have  rummaged  through 

store-rooms 
So  you  know  the  mell6e  too  well ; 
239 


REMINISCENCE 

How  the  dust  streams  to  the  window 
Where  the  sun  is  struggling  through, 
It  glints  and  gleams  so  prettily, 
As  the  wings  of  bright  fairies  do. 
I  sat  there  opening  boxes 
And  living  over  the  days 
That  were  far  out  on  Time's  horizon. 
Dimmed  by  an  ambient  haze. 
With  listless,  dust-stained  fingers 
I  opened  a  long,  thin  box, 
Thinking  to  find  wrapped  bundles 
Of  cloth  for  the  children's  frocks. 
Oh,  tell  me,  have  you  ever 
Locked  a  love  away 

In  the  deepest  spot  of  your  heart's  depths 
And  felt  it  again  one  day, 
Stirring  with  untold  longing 
And  yearning  for  what  is  past, 
I  opened  the  lid  and  found  my  doll 
And  I  took  her  and  held  her  fast. 
I  had  loved  that  doll  with  the  passion 
Of  the  hungry  heart  of  a  child ; 
I  had  cried  to  her,  sung  to  her,  talked  to  her, 
And  she  always  sweetly  smiled; 
I  had  kissed  her  as  mothers  kiss  children 
240 


REMINISCENCE 

Till  the  paint  all  left  her  cheeks, 
And  her  hair  that  had  once  been  curly 
Was  matted  in  yellow  streaks. 
Her  eyes  had  never  changed,  though. 
They  were  just  the  same  china  blue. 
But  they  used  to  say  they  loved  me; 
I  think  all  dolls'  eyes  do. 
I  had  put  her  little  dress  on, 
And  then  hid  her  away. 
Because  the  folks  kept  saying 
I  was  too  old  to  play 
With  dolls;  that  I  ought  to  sew 
And  learn  to  sweep  and  cook. 
She  had  that  same  dress  on  to-day 
And  the  same  sweet,  smiling  look. 
Oh,  all  the  love  of  another  day 
Flooded  back  on  my  heart. 
And  all  the  dreams  of  my  childhood, 
Till  I  felt  the  tear-drops  start. 
I  kissed  her  dear,  hard  cheeks  again, 
As  I  kissed  them  long  ago. 
The  angels  of  Doll  Land  had  guarded  her 
All  through  those  years,  I  know. 
And  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  childhood 
Flooded  back  again. 
241 


REMINISCENCE 

The  strange,  little  childish  worries 

That  used  to  bring  so  much  pain ; 

I  heard  a  voice  that  I  have  not  heard  now 

For  many  longing  years, 

The  voice  of  the  one  who  gave  me  the  doll 

And  used  to  dry  my  tears; 

I  know  not  how  long  I  sat  there 

Holding  my  darling  doll, 

While  the  dust  streamed  to  the  window 

And  the  sunbeams  danced  on  the  wall. 

I  did  not  stay  that  morning 

To  find  the  cloth  for  the  frocks. 

I  put  all  my  dear,  loved  childhood 

Back  in  the  little  doll  box, 

And  I  kissed  the  faded  cheek  again; 

It  was  foreign  among  the  rest. 

I  think  the  doll  loved  the  kisses 

Given  in  childhood  best. 


POSSESSION 

He  sought  her  in  the  morning, 
When  the  sun  was  shining  bright, 
With  eyes  of  adoration 
That  languished  for  her  sight. 
And  she  was  Hke  the  south  wind, 
Gentle,  sweet,  and  free. 
She  loved,  but,  ah,  thou  seeker. 
Her  love  was  not  for  thee. 

He  sought  her  still  at  noontime. 
When  the  golden  sun  was  high, 
And  like  the  breeze  of  evening 
She  saw,  but  passed  him  by. 
As  oft  the  swaying  shadow 
Flees  the  ardent  wind. 
He  loved  her,  longed  to  win  her, 
Vowed  she  should  yet  be  kind. 

He  sought  her  still  one  evening, 
She  did  not  fly  from  him : 
The  wind  was  gently  sighing 
And  the  sunset  growing  dim. 
243 


POSSESSION 

They  heard  a  secret  breathing 
All  through  the  sunset  haze, 
Stealing  into  their  fond  hearts 
Until  love  was  ablaze. 

Like  the  slender  lily  she  bent 
Her  graceful  head, 
"  I  love  you,  dear,"  and  all  the  trees 
Echoed  what  she  said. 
And  then  her  loving  heart  depths 
Yielded  him  love  and  bliss; 
He  sought  her  lips  and  reveled 
In  her  pure  maiden  kiss. 

The  love  weeks  passed  as  flowers, 

Wind  flowers  on  the  hill ; 

One  morn  he  did  not  seek  her, 

He  said,  "She  is  mine  still. 

Why  strive  to  hold  what  stands  and  waits, 

I  will  not  seek  her  more?" 

Possession  strangled  what  had  been 

Questing  love  before. 


EONS  AGO 

She  was  a  creature  fair  to  see, 

Wild  and  impulsive,  ecstatic,  free; 

And  this  was  eons  and  eons  ago 

When  the  world  was  not  the  world  we  know, 

When  the  jungle  sang  to  another  moon 

And  the  nights  were  all  like  the  nights  in  June. 

He  was  a  creature  tall  and  strong. 

His  shoulders  were  broad  and  his  arms  were  long, 

And  the  fleetest-footed  deer  that  ran 

Could  not  outpace  this  primal  man. 

And  they  wandered  under  the  great  palm  trees 

And  waded  in  water  up  to  their  knees. 

And  for  many  a  year  they  lived  close  by, 

But  she  never  came  beneath  his  eye; 

And  he  hunted  the  forest  and  killed  the  deer 

And  she  lived  on  berries  and  fruits  that  grew 

near. 
One  morning  under  the  flame-colored  sun 
They  met  and  each  feared  the  other  one ; 
And  he  was  strong  and  he  thought  to  kill, 
But  an  unseen  power  turned  his  will. 
245 


EONS  AGO 

And  she  fled  through  the  forest,  this  fleet,  wild 

thing; 
He  followed  swift  as  a  bird  on  the  wing. 
Over  the  ragged  hills  they  sped 
And  ever  the  form  of  the  woman  led ; 
And  her  golden  hair  streamed  in  the  wind ; 
He  could  almost  reach  it  from  behind. 
And  the  morning  sun  smiled  down  in  gold 
(He  has  often  smiled  so  since  I  am  told) , 
But  the  warmth  of  the  sun's  smile  wearied  her. 
Still  he  rushed  on,  ever  getting  nearer, 
And  he  caught  at  the  beautiful  golden  hair. 
His  arm  was  strong  and  he  held  her  there. 
And  she  turned  as  the  doe  turns  when  at  bay, 
And  her  eyes  spoke  what  her  lips  should  say. 
She  struggled  in  vain  to  be  free  once  more. 
He  held  her,  but  not  as  he  held  her  before. 
Not  to  kill.  Have  you  seen  a  child  hold  a  butter- 

fly 
When  it  longs  to  be  free  and  it  fears  to  die? 
She  was  still  for  a  moment.  He  felt  his  heart  stir. 
Then  eons  ago  as  it  is  to  this  day,  he  spoke  to  her. 
She  could  not  understand,  she  tried  to  run  again. 
He  was  a  man  —  and  to  the  thing  he  loved  gave 

pain, 

246 


EONS  AGO 

Roughly  he  grasped  her  wind-caressed  throat  dried 
From  the  chase  and  clutched  it  till  she  cried. 
Those  crystal  raindrops  bleeding  from  her  eyes 
He  had  not  seen  before,  and  strange  surprise 
Gripped  his  heart.  What  creature  could  this  be, 
What  animal  had  stirred  him  thus  strangely? 
He  did  not  know  that  love  was  in  his  heart ; 
He  only  felt  a  strange  new  throbbing  start. 
And  the  sinking  sun  saw  tear-drops  in  his  eyes. 
The  thing  he  loved  fell  to  the  ground  and  could 

not  rise. 
The  purple  marks  of  his  great  hands  were  there 
Upon  her  neck  so  delicately  fair. 
Gently  he  lifted  her  and  bore  her  to  his  cave, 
This  animal  of  all  he  hunted  he  would  save; 
In  a  silvered  shell  he  brought  her  water  then 
From  the  bubbling  stream  in  the  rainbow  glen. 
She  lay  on  the  jagged  rocks  all  limp  and  frail, 
The  cave  was  black  and  her  limbs  were  pale, 
Like  moonbeams  on  a  beauteous  summer  night, 
And  her  hair  streamed  over  her  in  golden  light. 
And  the  man  stood  in  the  door  of  his  cave. 
The  man  that  was  tall  and  strong  and  brave ; 
And  this  was  eons  and  eons  ago 
In  a  strange,  past  world,  but  we  who  know 
247 


EONS  AGO 

Love,  know  the  stirrings  the  primal  man  felt 

As  by  her  side  he  tenderly  knelt 

And  gave  her  water  to  drink  from  the  shell. 

A  moonbeam  that  strayed  in  the  cave  could  tell 

How  she  moved  and  opened  her  dizzy  eyes 

And  gazed  about  her  in  rapt  surprise; 

How  he  lifted  her  gently  in  his  arms, 

The  creature  he  caught,   but  then  dared  not 

harm. 
And  the  moon  was  high  o'er  the  silver  lake, 
And  the  dewdrops  glistened  upon  the  brake, 
And  the  breeze  was  wandering  through  the  wood, 
Quietly  as  though  it  understood. 
And  the  moonbeam  that  strayed  into  the  cave 
Saw  the  first  kiss  that  man  ever  gave 
To  woman.  And  this  was  eons  and  eons  ago. 
The  moon  has  cast  its  splendor  here  below 
Many  and  many  a  night  since  then  and  seen 
Many  loves  and  wooings  in  its  silver  sheen, 
And  the  moon  will  tell  you,  if  you  ask  to-day, 
That  we  too  love  in  the  primal  way. 
That  the  creatures  who  sped  o'er  vale,  and  hill 
Are  racing,  pursuing,  and  loving  still. 


VERS  LIBRE 


TO 

Why  do  I  think  of  you  so  often  now? 

I  did  not  love  you. 

When  we  sat  together  under  the  white  pine  tree  — 

I  did  not  love  you  then. 

Why  do  I  think  now  of  the  time  you  spoke  to  me 

And  smiled  into  my  eyes? 

I  thought  the  sun  was  shining, 

But  it  was  the  glory  of  your  smile. 

And  I  repeat  in  my  heart  what  you  said  to  me 

And  I  love  the  words  now. 

They  were  only  words   then  —  now  they  are 

treasures. 
The  wind  can  never  blow 
The  lovely  gold  heart  of  the  daisy  away, 
Nor  can  time  waft  away  the  memories  of  that 

day, 
And  I  am  glad. 

There  will  never  be  a  day  like  that  again : 

The  next  time  we  meet  I  shall  know  that  I  love 

you 
And  it  will  all  be  different  — 
A  beautiful,  strange  difference. 
251 


TO 

I  have  a  fear  in  my  heart,  and  yet  I  know  not 

why. 
It  is  a  silent  fear, 

But  you  will  lay  your  hand  on  mine. 
And  I  shall  see  your  eyes  gazing  into  mine 
As  summer  skies  contemplate  still  waters, 
And  then  I  shall  not  be  afraid, 
But  shall  only  love  — 
Love  you  with  all  the  strength  of  my  soul  — 
And  I  will  be  exquisitely  happy. 


A   FANCY 

It  was  evening 

And  the  purple  spirit  of  the  sky 

Lighted  the  star  lamps; 

The  moth  flitted  silently  before  the  moon. 

There  was  a  long  beach  of  glinting  sand 

And  it  shone  in  the  beauteous  light. 

I  sat  on  the  border  of  the  sea, 

Like  a  soul  on  the  edge  of  the  land  of  dreams, 

And  loved.  My  heart  throbbed  in  my  breast 

There  on  the  moonlit  sand,  where  the 

Foam  waves  broke  in  passion  on  the  shore. 

I  learned  how  to  woo  a  woman 

The  way  the  waves  wooed  the  beach 

Under  the  moonlight. 

The  sea  spoke  in  the  voice  God  gave 

The  winds  eons  ago  and  took  from  them  again. 

The  voice  of  the  wind  and  waves  is  much  the 

same. 
My  eyes  reached  out  over  the  foamy,  limitless  sea 
To  a  far  bright  spot, 
And  a  great  gold  star  came  down 
And  lifted  the  figure  of  a  woman  from  the  sea, 
253 


A  FANCY 

Held  her  against  the  struggling  sky 

And  kissed  her  with  the  passion 

Of  his  soul,  held  her  and 

Kissed  her  again.   Then  he 

Let  her  fall  back  into  the  sea 

And  her  white  arms  were  lost  in  the  foam. 

To-morrow  I  shall  win  thee,  Love  of  my  life. 


PARTING 

I  DID  not  love  to  let  thee  go. 

It  was  like  going  from  home, 

Going  to  some  far-off  land 

That  eyes  have  only  glimpsed  in  dreams. 

I  do  not  love  the  foreign,  lonely  darkness 

I  feel  when  thou  art  far  from  me. 

The  evening  had  a  sad,  impressive  beauty. 

And  it  was  a  spring  evening 

When  the  flowers  bloomed  in  fragrance 

And  the  stars  looked  languorously  down 

And  the  breeze  took  thee  away. 

Something  light  stayed  near  —  I  felt  it  — 

I  think  it  was  thy  spirit. 

How  long  will  that  stay?  The  moon 

With  snowy  steps  is  coming  out  of  the  hill. 

And  there  is  a  shadow  under  the  cedar  tree, 

I  have  an  exquisite  aimlessness  in  my 

Sleepy  soul  and  only  thy  spirit  is  near  me. 


255 


MAGNOLIA  BLOSSOMS 

There  is  a  sleep  flower  blossoming  in  the  garden, 

And  there  is  one  blooming  in  my  heart, 

With  exquisite  cream-white  petals  that  droop 

apart 
In  an  adorable  languorousness. 
There  is  a  spirit  hovering  over  the  magnolia 

flowers, 
She  is  the  spirit  of  dreams, 
And  her  soft  moon-white  hands 
Are  pouring  visions  into  the  flowers. 
When  they  fall,  some  one  will  dream  a  lovely 

dream 
And  the  pink-tinted  petals 
Will  bear  away  all  that  might  grieve  the  heart. 
There  is  nothing  but  love  and  happiness 
In  the  sleep  blossoms  of  the  magnolia. 


256 


CLOUDS   ACROSS   THE   MOON 

The  souls  of  unbloomed  roses  are  on  the  breeze; 

There  is  a  drowsy  dream-substance  in  the  eve- 
ning air; 

Only  the  garden  fountain  pierces  the  silence 

Like  a  silver  lance  of  falling  diamonds. 

My  soul  is  the  echo  of  the  aspiring  fountain, 

But  my  heart  is  asleep  on  the  fragrant  couch  of 
eve. 

I  am  glad  my  heart  is  sleeping,  for  thou  art  afar. 

And  it  is  anguish  when  thou  art  not  here. 

There  is  an  exquisite  sadness  in  the  tops  of  the 
trees, 

And  the  wind  is  shaking  it  out  into  the  night; 

And  so  the  tops  of  the  trees  are  swaying  tremu- 
lously. 

I  see  a  shadow  standing  under  the  linden  tree 

Reaching  white,   fragrant  arms  to   the  lowest 
branches. 

And  singing  to  the  thousand  mysteries  of  the 
spirit-night. 

She  is  singing  the  song  God  taught  the  valleys 
long  ago, 

257 


CLOUDS  ACROSS  THE  MOON 

But  they  forgot  it.    It  is  the  song  of  a  passing 

soul. 
Half  the  moon  is  behind  the  cloud  to-night, 
And  there  is  a  pale-blue  light  in  the  skies 
That  fringes  the  cloud.  One  of  the  angels  loved 
With  mortal  love  to-day  —  that  is  what  spreads 

a  cloud 
Across  the  mystery  of  the  silvered  moon. 


MARRIAGE 

There  is  a  golden  circlet  about  thy  finger 

And  one  about  mine. 

That  is  all  the  change  the  world  may  see  in  our 

lives. 
I  have  a  sacred  fear  within  my  heart, 
So  many  of  my  dreams  have  come  to  earth 
And  broken  as  a  rainbow  bubble  vanishes. 
I  feel  thee  near  me  now  — 

My  lips  have  long  sought  thine  in  lotus  dreams  — 
Now  they  may  touch  and  sink  into  the  fullness  of 

a  kiss, 
As  the  gold-winged  butterfly  poises  on  a  flower, 
Then  in  sublime  contentment 
Sinks  into  the  depths  of  its  sun-warm  chalice 
And  lies  insensate  there. 

My  longing  hands  do  not  touch  darkness  now, 
Not  darkness,  but  the  sublime  tenderness  of 

thine  own. 
And  only  God  in  his  greatness  can  know 
Of  the  infinite  vastness  of  my  bliss. 
259 


MARRIAGE 

The  breeze  is  fanning  the  waning  stars 

In  an  adorable  tenderness. 

Thou  and  I  alone  in  all  the  beauteous  profun- 
dity. 

Two  clouds  scudding  the  silent  skies  and  meeting 
at  last, 

Two  shadows  blended  now  beneath  the  moon, 

Yet  the  world  sees  but  a  golden  circlet  about  thy 
finger 

And  one  about  mine. 


POT  AU  FEU 

There  was  a  kitchen 

With  pots  and  pans  that  shone  brightly  in  the 

sunshine, 
And  in  the  evenings  the  copper  light  of  the  fire 
Made  them  glow  flame  red. 
On  winter  evenings,  when  the  snow  was  heaped 
White  and  soft  outside  and  the  wind  howled 
Around  the  corners  of  the  house, 
The  family  gathered  about  the  kitchen  stove 
And  talked  or  read  by  the  old  lamplight 
In  the  center  of  the  table  with  a  red  cloth  on  it. 
In  its  little  drawer  was  the  cook-book  with  recipe 

papers. 
Those  were  cozy  winter  evenings  and  the 
Simple  talk  of  the  peasant  folk  rose  above 
The  simmerings  of  the  pot  au  feu. 
The  pot  au  feu  was  upon  the  stove  day  in  and 

day  out, 
Year  after  year,  always  simmering 
And  unconcernedly  boiling. 
The  bubbles  rose  and  broke 
Like  unrealized  hopes  dream-fed; 
261 


POT  AU  FEU 

All  the  odors  of  the  cooking  mingled  in  it 
And  scraps  from  the  dishes  fell  into  its  turmoil. 
Long  it  boiled,  the  fire  was  carefully  tended 
So  it  did  not  boil  over.    Those  were  peaceful, 

happy  days. 
But  there  came  a  day  when  strange  news 
Reached  the  family. 

Strange  news  that  struck  terror  to  the  heart, 
Gripped  their  lives  and  paralyzed  their  inten- 
tions. 
Mothers  neglected  their  homes  and  wept 
Over  a  son  or  a  father  they  were  to  see  soon 
Departing.    Daughters  wept  over  their  sweet- 
hearts 
Who  would  soon  go  from  them.  It  was  only 
A  rumor  then  that  war  had  been  declared. 
The  mother  neglected  the  home  heedlessly. 
With  mind  awander,  she  heaped  fuel  on  the  fire 
And  left  it  to  go  to  her  room  and  weep 
In  unconsoled  despair. 
And  when  she  came  again  to  the  kitchen  she 

found 
The  simmering  pot  aufeu  had  boiled  over. 
Clouds  of  putrid  smoke  filled  her  nostrils 
And  blinded  her  eyes.   It  nauseated  her 
262 


POT  AU  FEU 

And  filled  her  with  a  dizzy  faintness. 

She  flew  to  the  window, 

With  trembling  hands  tore  it  open, 

And  little  by  little  the  smoke  cleared. 

The  objects  in  the  kitchen  became  visible  — 

The  little  table  with  the  red  cloth,  the  old  oil 

lamp 
And  the  red  geranium  on  the  window  sill. 
She  went  to   the  stove.    The  pot  au  feu  was 

empty  — 
Only  a  reddish-brown  clot  that  was 
Almost  blood  clung  to  it ;  all  else  was  black 
Like  strips  of  the  dead  of  night,  and  the 
Stove  was  reeking  and  filthy  with  the 
Charred  mass  from  the  boiled-over  pot. 

It  will  be  some  time  before  the  stove 

Is  returned  to  its  former  glory, 

And  the  family  will  not  soon  gather  about  it  again 

Because  of  its  putrid  odor. 

It  means  a  good  deal  when  the  pot  boils  over. 

Should  you  stop  to  ponder  over  this  a  moment 
On  the  simmering  pot  au  feu,  on  the  boiling  tur- 
moil of  the  pot  au  feu, 
263 


POT  AU  FEU 

Of  the  charred  black  desolation  and  spoil  of  the 

stove, 
Mayhap  it  would  call  to  your  mind  something 

greater. 
Nations  simmer  year  in  and  year  out  and  at  last 

boil  over, 
Then  God  only  knows  the  charred  despair 
That  is  left  on  the  blackened  field  of  war : 
God  only  knows  the  months  and  years  —  cen- 
turies of  struggle 
To  regain  the  lost  glory  of  these  nations ; 
And  the  families  for  many  a  year  will  not  as- 
semble 
In  love  and  quiet  under  the  shelter  of  a  nation 

at  peace. 
The  charred  stove  will  not  soon  be  clean, 
But  how  much  longer  will  it  take  for  the  horrible 
Stench  and  stain  of  bestial  war  to  be  eradicated 
and  obliterated? 


A    RHAPSODY 

I  HEARD  the  music  of  floating  clouds, 

And  a  butterfly  that  had  not  flitted  the  dew  from 

her  wings 
Passed  by.  Sorrow  lay  Hke  Pompeii,  silent, 
Under  a  mindless  sky.  Tragedy  too  was  buried. 
The  red-lipped  poppy  swayed  in  tranquillity 
And  the  clovers  breathed  in  the  air. 
A  bird  rose  from  the  purple  grasses, 
Scattering  wing  diamonds  to  the  yellow  sun. 
It  seemed  strange  to  be  in  the  world  and 
Yet  far  away  from  life.  The  moon  came  up, 
And  my  heart  turned,  so  did  the 
Flowers;  in  an  exquisite  languorousness 
The  moon  passed  through  the  temple  of  night. 
And  there  was  a  voice  that  spoke 
From  out  the  hills  —  yet  not  the  hills'  voice  — 
I  think  it  was  the  voice  of  God. 


265 


^ 


L'ENVOI 


HEART  SONGS 

The  birds  sing  at  morn 

And  their  songs  mingle  in  the  sounds  of  the  day : 
The  flowers  breathe  all  their  fragrance  to  the  air 
And  it  vanishes  beyond  the  blue  ridges  of  the 

hills. 
The  sea  murmurs  of  its  million  mysteries, 
And  the  echoes  beat  on  foreign  strands, 
And  life  speaks  to  life. 
The  heart  sings  and  its  echoes  rise 
And  flood  the  radiant,  eager  air. 
There  is  but  one  thing  that  shall  hush 
The  singing  of  the  heart  on  this  earth, 
And  after  that  it  shall  sing  elsewhere,  mayhap. 


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